


Portrait of a God

by SeekingIdlewild



Series: Portrait of a God [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Frostpudding, M/M, Tomki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingIdlewild/pseuds/SeekingIdlewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston was born to play the part of Loki.  Quite literally, as it turns out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I started another Frostpudding story. This one is going to be a multi-chapter work. Note that this story is not connected to [Between Ice and Fire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/621698).
> 
> Dedicated to [Batsutousai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai), because all of my Frostpudding feels are her fault.

Tom's rise to full consciousness was a gradual process.  At first the only thing he felt was a stabbing pain somewhere behind his right eye that was nauseating in its intensity.  Then he became aware of an awkward floating sensation, as if he were in motion, but not by his own power.  That was when he first he noticed the feeling of two arms wrapped tightly around his body, holding him bridal style.  They were powerful, muscular arms, and they seemed to be having no difficulty supporting his entire weight. 

Tom tried opening his eyes, but the impenetrable darkness remained.  _Blind_ , he thought wildly, _I'm blind_.  But no, now he could feel the brush of fabric against his face, and now he noticed the stuffy thickness of the air he was breathing.  He was bound up in some sort of large sack.

But how had he gotten like this?  What the hell had happened?  Apparently he was being kidnapped, but he had no memory of any confrontation or struggle.  He remembered meeting an old friend for dinner, parting ways in front of the restaurant, and calling a cab.  That was all.  After that, everything was a blank.

Tom tried to struggle against the arms which held him, but the fabric that he was wrapped in restricted his movement.  Besides, the motion increased the pain in his head and his nausea to the point where he could taste bile on the back of his tongue.  The last thing he wanted to do was lose his dinner within the close confines of the sack.  He tried to shout for help instead, but he was so weak and he felt so ill that all he managed was a thin groan.

"He's wakin' up," came a deep, gruff voice above him.  That must be the man who was holding him.  "Shouldn't I put him out again?"

"No."  A woman's voice this time, issuing from Tom's immediate right.  "Let him wake up.  He has good timing."

"He's bigger than I thought he'd be, him bein' human an' all," said the gruff voice.

"He is exactly the size specified," the woman said in clipped tones.  "He is, in fact, perfect.  That's why we're _here_.  It's time to get our due for all our hard work."

"Hush," came a third voice.  This voice was thin, nasally, and it came from somewhere further to Tom's right.  "He's coming."

Silence fell, and then Tom could hear the echoes of booted feet walking swiftly over stone tiles at some distance away.  The footsteps slowed and finally stopped, and a new voice spoke from the other side of the room.  Tom could only just make out the words, muffled as they were by the fabric which covered his ears, but he could tell that the speaker was male.  There was also something strangely familiar about his inflection, but Tom couldn't hear well enough to be certain. "Ah, Leelta.  It is always a pleasure, of course, to see your shining face."  The words dripped with sarcasm.

"Thank you for granting this audience," said the woman beside Tom.  It sounded like she was speaking through clenched teeth.  "It is most good of you."

"Yes, isn't it?" said the newcomer in a bored tone.  There was a light rustling sound, and then more footsteps.  The man was coming closer.  "I surprise myself sometimes with my own magnanimity.  Perhaps you would repay my patience by getting to the point of your visit as quickly as possible."

"The point," hissed the woman next to Tom, "is a certain bargain we made some thirty-odd years ago by earth reckoning.  You came to me because of my expertise with the human form.  You commissioned a mortal simulacrum.  Perhaps you recall that?"  As she spoke, the man who held Tom hefted him up a little, as if showing off his bundle proudly to the newcomer.  Tom's head swam sickeningly, so he almost didn't notice the way the approaching footsteps halted abruptly. 

"Ah, yes," came the smooth voice, closer now.  " I perfectly recollect the circumstances of our agreement.  Is there a reason you are bringing it up again now?"

"We kept our end of the bargain," the one called Leelta said.  Her voice, which had previously sounded cultured, began to lose a bit of its polish.  "We designed a most beautiful mortal to be your likeness.  A work of art.  I consider him to be my masterpiece, in fact."

"Do you, now?" the man asked so softly that Tom almost missed the words.  The tone was polite, but oh-so-dangerous.  A little chill raced down Tom's spine.  Did his captors recognize the sound of controlled violence in that voice?  It was like dark velvet.  Like sweet poison.  Tom _knew_ that voice, had heard it issuing from his own lips, but he couldn't believe it.  Couldn't accept it.

If Leelta was the least bit intimidated by the man she was addressing, if she heard the promise of slow death and torment buried within his seemingly innocent words, she gave no indication of it.  "I do, indeed," she insisted.  "It was I who made the design.  It was I who gathered the materials from all corners of the earth.  It was I who sang to the wind to bring to me a spark of life for your likeness."

"Yes," the other man interrupted, still speaking in that deceptively calm voice, "the design was ready made.  You were to recreate _me_.  And by the way, I do not recall giving you permission to exercise artistic license regarding his coloring, but we'll let that pass.  The materials were simple enough.  Even I can create a homunculus from dust and water.  What I needed you for, first and foremost, was your soul-singing.  And for that I paid you precisely what you asked."

"Two worthless trinkets!" Leelta said, her tone suddenly savage. "Baubles!  Useless!  You led us to believe that the blade called Archenwell and the Torch of Grid were both objects of great power."

There was a low chuckle from the man.  "False.  I merely did not inform you that the rumors about their powers were somewhat… exaggerated," he corrected.  "All I ever said about them was that I could obtain them for you.  That was the price you asked for, and I paid it."

"If you have any honor in you, you will pay us the true worth of our services," Leelta hissed.

There was a brief pause, and then the man spoke again.  His voice was louder now and more business-like.  "This is not about honor, is it, Leelta?  This is about coercion.  Now, why don't you unveil the poor creature you have trussed up in that sack?  That doesn't look very comfortable."

"Tark, open it.  Set him down," Leelta commanded.

The man who held Tom, whose name was apparently Tark, shifted him in his arms and unwrapped the heavy cloth from his body.  Tom drew in a deep breath of clean air as his face was uncovered.  He blinked open his eyes, but he was too dazzled by the light after prolonged darkness to make out much of his surroundings.  He received the impression of solid oak paneling, white marble floors, gold trim and swaths of rich red fabric.  He was in a palace of some sort.  A very grand sort of palace. 

Tark attempted to set him on his feet, but Tom's knees buckled under him.  He slumped to the floor in a kneeling position.  The next moment, he felt rough fingers burrow into his hair and tug, jerking his head back.  He hissed as the jostling of his head made it throb worse than ever. 

Tom looked up to see three figures hovering over him.  The woman, Leelta, was red haired, middle aged, and dressed in a tweed suit, of all things.  On either side of her stood two men.  Tark, a brawny, tattooed man with a shaved head, stood on her left side.  On her right side stood a slimmer, weasely-looking man wearing tortoise shell glasses.  All three of them looked more or less like normal human beings. 

It was Leelta who currently held a fistful of his curls.  With her free hand, she reached into her tweed jacket and drew out a wicked-looking knife with a serpentine blade.  Tom had only enough time to draw in a quick breath before the blade was positioned at his throat, kissing his tender skin with its cold edge.

"Interesting," came that voice again.  It sounded bland now.  "Is this the point where I'm supposed to start begging for his life?"

In spite of the blade at his neck and the fingers clamped in his hair, Tom tried to tilt his head forward so he could see the owner of that voice.  To his surprise, Leelta assisted him in his endeavor by adjusting the knife and forcing his head forward.  Tom's eyes had adjusted enough to the light by now that he could take in the figure before him. 

Even though that honey-rich voice had prepared him for the sight which met his eyes, it still sent a shock through Tom to see Loki standing a few meters in front of him, his legs apart and his hands clasped behind his back.  The god of mischief was dressed in his signature green cloth and black leather.  The garments were beautiful to look at, but they made Tom's skin itch sympathetically in remembrance of uncomfortable costumes.  Loki's posture was simultaneously regal and insolent, just casual enough to be a subtle insult to his visitors.  He was gazing at Tom in just the sort of way Tom might find himself gazing at a beetle on the ground – not with loathing, but with complete indifference.

"I should think you'd want to preserve what you were so eager to create," Leelta said tauntingly.

"Indeed," Loki mused.  He pursed his lips, examining Tom more closely.  "What color are his eyes, exactly?"

"They change," Leelta said proudly.  "Aren't they striking?"

"They are not mine," he replied dismissively.  He turned and paced a few steps away before circling back.  He appeared to be moving out of sheer boredom rather than restlessness, as if he were trapped in a very dull meeting instead of a critical negotiation in which a life was at stake.  "What price are you asking in exchange for his life, exactly?"

"His weight in gold," Leelta replied promptly.

Loki threw back his head and laughed.

"Enough of that!" Leelta said impatiently.  "We know you have twenty times that amount in your own possession, not touching what is within Odin's own vaults."

"I may have a hundred times that amount, but I would not give you the smallest pinch of it," Loki whispered, all humor leaving his countenance as swiftly as it had appeared.  "I do not renegotiate bargains.  Not ever."

"You would condemn him to death, then?" Leelta hissed.  The blade in her hand slid suggestively along Tom's throat, leaving a thin line of blood.  He could not feel the cut itself, but he felt the slow trickle of several drops of blood down his neck, so he knew it was there.  He drew in a slow breath, forcing down the whimper in his throat before it escaped his lips.

Loki peered at Tom's neck for a moment, then his eyes flicked up to Leelta's face.  Tom saw Loki's eyes narrow slightly, just for an instant, but then the expression was wiped from his face and the look of indifference returned.  "Why not?" he asked softly.  "I commissioned his creation for a purpose, but he has already fulfilled it, more or less.  I have no further need of him.  Do as you will."

"I'm warning you, Odinson,"  Leelta screeched so sharply that Tom's ears buzzed painfully, "I don't make idle threats!  He will be nothing but a dark smear upon your pretty white marble if you don't acquiesce to our demands!"

"I grow weary of both your threats and your company," Loki sighed.  "If you'll excuse me, I have much better ways to occupy my afternoon."  He turned away abruptly with those words and began to make his way towards the large oaken doors on the opposite side of the room. 

"So be it!" snarled Leelta, quite overcome with disappointed rage.

In that moment of utter panic, Tom finally found his voice.  Careless of the blade at his throat, he shouted in desperation, "Loki, _please_!"

Loki paused mid-stride and spun on his heel to face Tom.  He was smiling.  His form flickered once and then disappeared completely.

Suddenly there was a scream from Leelta that cut off abruptly and turned into a sickening gurgle.  The hand which held the blade to Tom's neck went slack, and the knife clattered harmlessly to the ground.  Tom glanced up to see a dagger protruding from Leelta's throat.  It was withdrawn in a fluid motion, and the dead weight of Leelta's body collapsed forward onto Tom.  He shoved her away in disgust and staggered to his feet.

By the time Tom was standing, Loki was already whirling away from the crumpling body of the weasely man.  Tark had let out a roar and charged at the god, but Loki was much too swift for him.  Moving faster than Tom's eyes could track, Loki leapt up onto the burly man's back and threw an arm around his neck to hold himself in place.  Then he brought his dagger straight down through the top of Tark's skull and gave it a cruel twist.  He jumped down just as the tall man toppled like a felled tree.

Tom stared at the three lifeless bodies, too dazed to fully process what had just happened.  And then, before his eyes, the three bodies began to warp and change.  The human forms shifted into monstrous, bloated creatures with large heads, long arms, and wide, toothy mouths.  Tom let out an inadvertent cry of horror and backed away hastily.  He looked down at himself, and found his clothes smeared not with red human blood, but with a sticky, black ichor. 

Something moved at his side.  He gave a violent start and swung around to find himself staring into Loki's impossibly green gaze.  The god was grinning with the lingering enjoyment of his kills.  His pale face was spattered with drops of thick, black blood, and more of the same disgusting substance covered his clothing, but he didn't seem to care.  He just laughed with exhilaration, and then he held his hand out to Tom.

"Welcome to Asgard, Thomas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where this fic is going, but I'm having fun with it so far. 
> 
> If Loki's characterization feel off, there are reasons for that. This is not quite the Loki we know from _Thor_ or _The Avengers_. Imagine the MCU Loki after a few hundred years, during which time he managed to achieve some level of redemption, and you'll pretty much have this Loki. More on that in later chapters.

Tom stared at Loki's outstretched hand for several seconds in silence, too dazed even to register the meaning of the gesture.  Then he closed his eyes as his head swam again.  The scent of death filled his nose, and he knew he was going to be sick.  But then he felt the light brush of fingertips at his temples, and he heard Loki murmuring at his ear, "Oh, no you don't.  You've done so well, and I won't allow you to lose your dignity now." 

A cool, soothing sensation spread out from the point of contact at Tom's temples, easing both his headache and his nausea.  He heaved a sigh of relief.  He felt bruised, weak, and exhausted beyond words, but at least he no longer felt ill.  He felt himself listing to one side, but two strong hands were immediately there to grip his shoulders and hold him upright.  Tom's body wanted to collapse where he stood, but Loki was there to support his weight.

Loki.  Loki was here, and Tom was in Asgard, and nothing made sense at all, but suddenly it was all so damn _funny._   A hysterical laugh escaped him, impossible to suppress.  He opened his eyes to find a pair of vivid green eyes staring at him with a mixture of concern and ironic amusement.

"My poor mortal," Loki whispered.  His caressing voice lapped at Tom's ears and sank into his body like heat from a warm fire on a chilly night.  "This is a problem.  This is a meeting that was never meant to take place.  But for now, you require a bath, and then sleep."

"But-"

"I know you have questions.  They can wait.  Just know that you are safe now."

"What are they?" Tom asked, because that was the question that seemed most important right now with those stinking, deformed bodies lying in a heap so close by. 

Loki looked back over his shoulder at the bodies.  His expression was impassive, as if they were of no account and he had no idea why Tom was even bothering to bring them up.  "Them?  They are – were – goblins.  Distant cousins to the dwarves of Nidavellir."

"Goblins," Tom repeated, blinking.  His mind was still too fogged by shock to fully comprehend Loki's words, but something about his explanation seemed slightly off.  "They spoke English," he pointed out.

"And why not?  They're Brits, just like you."

Tom started to sway slightly, but Loki held him steady.  "They're _nothing_ like me," Tom assured him in a breathless voice.

Loki just laughed.  "You mortals.  If only you knew what manner of creatures walk disguised in your midst, you would never sleep at night."

"Oh, that's so comforting," Tom groaned.

"Come," Loki said, slipping an arm around Tom's middle to hold him up.  "You are covered in their filth.  We are going to my chambers to wash and change, and then you will rest until you are able to stand by yourself without falling over."

The prospect of a bath and clean clothes sounded so wonderful to Tom that he couldn't bring himself to demand any more explanations or make any more protests.  Both the questions swirling in his head and the knot of dread in his stomach would have to wait until tomorrow.  For now, he pushed away the memory of the goblins' conversation with Loki.  He didn't have the energy to sort out what it all meant.

Loki steered him gently but firmly toward the set of heavy oaken doors at the far side of the chamber.   Instead of releasing Tom to open the doors, Loki instead raised a fist and struck one of the doors with a hard blow.  Then he pulled Tom back far enough to accommodate the heavy doors as they swung slowly inward, pushed open by a pair of heavily armored guards. 

Tom stared at the guards in confusion.  Had they been standing there, right outside the doors, through the whole confrontation?  Yes,  they must have been.  Loki had expected them to be there, ready for his knock.  He could have called them into the room at any time, but he had preferred to face his visitors alone.  Recalling the unholy radiance of Loki's eyes right after he had made his kills, Tom thought he understood why.  He also understood something that the goblins should have realized from the moment they found themselves alone in a room with the god of chaos.  Loki had not intended for them to leave the room alive, and he had reserved for himself the pleasure of dispatching them.

Loki cast one of the guards a sidelong look as he and Tom passed through the doorway.  Tom caught the glitter of mischief in Loki's eyes as the god murmured with false sincerity, "It appears that I have left a bit of a mess for you.  I'm _so_ sorry."

The guard simply inclined his head in a longsuffering nod.  There were definite signs of dislike in the guard's expression, but Tom noticed resignation there as well.  Loki's right to give orders and to leave messes wherever he chose was apparently recognized by the guards, even if they were not exactly thrilled by it.  If he had not been so out of it, Tom would have found himself trying to analyze what that meant about Loki's current position in Asgard.  As it was, Tom was too weary to question it.

They passed out into a long, wide hallway with doors placed at regular intervals along one side, and with wide windows along the other.  The windows revealed a spectacular view of a golden city, and beyond that, a sky swirling with stars and planets visible even in the lingering light of dusk.  While Tom gaped at the view, Loki called out to a nearby servant, "Run ahead to my chambers and draw a bath in my washroom.  Set out two sets of clothing from my wardrobe."  The sound of running feet indicated that Loki's orders were being obeyed, but Tom could not tear his eyes away from the sight of that alien sky for long enough to check.

Tom felt the brush of Loki's soft hair against his ear, and then warm lips whispering low, "Beautiful, isn't it?  Does it call to you?"

Tom shivered slightly, but whether it was at the awe-inspiring view, or at that brief touch of the god's lips against his ear, he wasn't sure.  "It tells me I don't belong here," he said.

"Neither do I," Loki whispered.  "That's the grand irony.  The joke of our existence.  We are outcasts in the world that needs us most."

Tom turned to look at the god as the knot in his stomach tightened further.  His head swam again as the implications of Loki's conversation with the goblins rose once more to his mind.  "Is my existence a joke?" he asked, because he could not hold the question in.

Loki just shook his head.  "Tomorrow.  We are not having that discussion now."

"But-"

"Don't you wish to be rid of those stinking garments?"

Tom did, so he reluctantly allowed himself to be led further along the hall.  Then they turned down a new hall, and then into a wide gallery, and then Tom lost track of their whereabouts as the beautiful rooms and hallways bled into one another.  He eventually resorted to staring straight at the floor, focusing all his energy into putting one foot in front of the other.  His whole body ached, and his head was starting to hurt again.  He wondered what, exactly, the goblins had done to him while he had been unconscious.  They certainly had not treated him delicately.  And he suspected that he had a huge lump on his head from being struck unconscious, although he hadn't felt for it with his fingers yet. 

Finally Loki paused before a particular door and opened it.  He pulled Tom into the room and shut the door behind them.  Tom blinked, lifting his head to survey the room.  It was a sort of sitting room, obviously rarely used, with three other rooms branching off from it.  The door to one of these other rooms stood open, and little curls of steam issued from it.  A woman emerged from that room and approached Loki.  "The bath is ready, and I laid out two sets of clothing for you."  She paused, her gaze flickering between Loki and Tom with evident curiosity.  Her eyes held particular interest when they settled on Tom, much to his confusion.  "Will you be requiring my assistance to-"

"No, that will be all," Loki snapped, cutting her off.

"Of course," she murmured and departed immediately.

Loki huffed out a soft breath by Tom's ear and then led him into the wash room, still supporting him around the waist.  The room was pleasantly warm and steamy, but Tom could not immediately spot a bath tub.  Then he saw it, a square pool set into the floor of the chamber.  It was approximately two meters across and two meters wide, and at the moment it looked to Tom like a portal to paradise.

"Are you even awake?"  Loki asked him, jostling him slightly.  "You look to be asleep with your eyes open.  Do you need help undressing?"

Tom shook his head and started tugging ineffectually at his ichor-splattered clothing.  Loki heaved a sigh and, ignoring his protests, began to strip away Tom's jacket, shirt, jeans, shoes, socks and underwear.  The process was entirely systematic – Loki handled him as if he were undressing a child – but Tom still found himself blushing, mumbling protests and apologies, and feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious.  When Loki was finished with him, he assisted Tom to the edge of the bath and kept a steadying hand on him until he had slipped gratefully into the steaming water.

The pool turned out to be deeper than Tom had expected; the water came up to his chest.  He found himself wondering dazedly how the servant had managed to heat this much water so quickly.  He didn't see any signs of modern plumbing around, but he figured that Asgardians must have their own advanced methods for accomplishing such tasks. 

Tom ducked his head under the surface and scrubbed at his hair with his fingers to rinse away the crusted goblin blood left there when Leelta's bleeding body had fallen onto him.  When he resurfaced a moment later, it was just in time to see a very naked Loki sliding into the pool beside him.  Somehow, Tom had not been expecting that, but he supposed that he probably should have.  Loki needed to clean the gore off himself as well.  But the proximity of his pale, dark-haired counterpart made Tom feel rather uncomfortable.  It was even worse when Loki moved closer and gripped Tom's shoulder with one hand, holding out a bar of soap with the other.  "You'll need this.  And don't go under like that again.  In your present state, you'll probably fall asleep before you resurface and drown yourself."

"I _do_ know how to wash myself, thank you," Tom said irritably, but he accepted the bar of soap.

Loki just raised an eyebrow at him before turning his focus toward scrubbing the signs of battle from his own skin. He did not offer Tom any further assistance, for which Tom was grateful.  He was too exhausted and too confused to deal with the awkwardness of standing nude beside another man.  A beautiful man.  A man who looked just like him.  And what did that say about his own vanity?  It was definitely not something he felt like examining too closely.  Not now.  Preferably, not ever.

A little while later, Tom was out of the tub, dried, and dressed in soft green clothing suitable for wearing to bed.  Loki, also dressed, but not for sleep, led him into one of the other chambers, which turned out to be a sumptuous bedroom.  He steered Tom to the bed and drew back the covers for him.  "Just like putting a child to bed," the god said ironically.  "You are making me feel very domesticated."

"Then go find some more goblins to kill," Tom mumbled as he practically fell into the bed.  He gave a soft whimper of pleasure.  The sheets were _so_ soft, and the furs on top of them were _so_ warm, and nothing else in the whole universe was as important as closing his eyes right now and drifting into the merciful embrace of oblivion.

As he lay back on the bed, waiting for sleep to take him, he felt a fingertip trail lightly across his neck.  It followed the path of the cut made by Leelta's knife that had scabbed over into a thin line of red.  "Her end was inevitable from the moment she marked you," whispered Loki above him.  " _My mortal_."  The words followed Tom into his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a comment!
> 
> For updates about my fics and general Avengers-related spam, come visit me on [Tumblr](http://seekingidlewild.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I love this chapter, but I'm posting it anyway. I'm tired of tweaking it.

Daylight spilled through the windows along one wall of the bedchamber, painting patterns across the bed.  Tom could feel the glow of heat from a ray of light which struck his cheek, but he refused to open his eyes.  The bedding was soft under him, and the little nest he had made out of the covers was deliciously warm.  He was awake, but for once he was ignoring his natural inclination to be active at this time of morning.  He couldn't remember when he last felt so comfortable.  All his aches and pains from the previous day had been soothed by a long, deep sleep, and right now he felt at peace.  He was shrewd enough to know that as soon as he got up to face the day and to ask all the questions that needed to be asked, his sense of peace would disappear.  So he lay there with his eyes closed, soaking up the warmth and comfort for as long as he could.

The sound of a door being ruthlessly flung open finally jerked him out of his doze.  Tom assumed it must have been the main door to Loki's chambers, because he could now hear the sound of heavy footfalls out in the entry room.  A deep voice called out, "Loki!"

Tom opened his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position.  He listened as another door opened and softer footsteps could be heard in the entry room.  He heard a low murmur which he recognized as Loki's voice, but he could not distinguish the words.  The newcomer answered irritably, "I think you have greater concerns than that at the moment.  Don't you have enough enemies in Asgard without inviting outsiders into this palace and slaughtering them in the audience chamber?  You behave as if you _wish_ to be called a monster!  Everyone is now aware that you have taken a human under your protection, as well.  What do you think Father would say to that?"

Tom pushed away the covers and slid out of the massive bed.  He picked his way lightly across the floor and bent his head close to the door so that he could hear Loki's reply.

"It is immaterial what he would say, since he is in the Odinsleep.  It is what _you_ say that matters at present.  Be comforted, Thor.  The human will not be here long," Loki said.

So Loki's noisy visitor was Thor.  His voice was deeper than Chris Hemsworth's, and from the sounds of Thor's movements, Tom had the impression that the god of thunder was considerably larger than Chris.  Tom was very curious to see what the real Thor looked like, for he must be a truly impressive figure, but he didn't want to alert the two Aesir to the fact that he was eavesdropping.  He wanted answers to his many questions, and he hoped that their conversation would be illuminating.

"I still do not like this," Thor said.

"What would you have me do instead?" Loki demanded, anger beginning to color his voice.  "Should I have gutted him like the goblins and left him to bleed out on the floor of the audience chamber?  I suppose it's not too late for that." 

"You know I did not mean that," the other man growled.  "Of course he must go home.  The sooner, the better.  There are those within this palace who would not hesitate to use him against you if the opportunity arose."

"The opportunity will not arise."

There was a grunt, and then Thor said in a lower voice which still reverberated through the room, "Even you must sleep sometimes, Loki."

"Not until he is safe."  Loki spoke the words like a vow.

"In that case, you should make preparations to go at once.  Should I send orders to the stable for horses to be readied?"

"No," Loki replied, "I will take him by the old paths.  The Bifrost is too public.  It will be best if no one is near to witness our departure.  If you would send to the kitchens for a tray of food to be brought here, that would be of greater use to me.  He will be hungry when he wakes."

"Then I will do so.  But do not allow him to tarry long over his food.  He is a source of vulnerability for you, and I want him as far away from here as possible," Thor said, there was the sound of his heavy tread once more.

"You are mistaken, Thor," Loki corrected in a low voice, barely audible to Tom through the closed bedroom door.  "He is a source of strength to me."

"He is _mortal_ ," Thor replied implacably.  "He has no place in a life such as yours.  Send him home."  The outer door opened and then closed abruptly, shutting out the echoes of Thor's retreating footsteps.   Silence settled over Loki's chambers. 

Tom backed away from the bedroom door.  He sat down on a corner of the bed and looked longingly down at the soft sheets and furs.  It would be nice to climb back under the covers, to rewind the past few minutes and recover that sense of peace once more.  His head was spinning with what he had just heard.  The conversation between the two gods had only created new questions without answering any of his previous ones. 

He was still sitting there, frowning into space as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened to him within the last twenty-four hours, when the bedroom door opened a few minutes later.  Loki entered bearing a pile of clothing that turned out to be Tom's own.  The jeans, shirt, jacket, socks, boxers, and boots were all present, neatly stacked and cleansed of all traces of goblins' blood. 

"You are awake.  I thought as much," Loki said as he dropped his burden onto the bed beside Tom.  "I must apologize for my brother.  He has two volumes: loud, and earsplitting.  I suppose you heard everything."

Tom acknowledged it with a nod, and then he reached over and tugged his jacket free from the pile of clothing.  He ran his fingertips across the leather, which had been splattered with black ichor when he had last seen it.  It was now spotless.  "I was sure this would have to be burned," Tom commented.

"The servants are used to scrubbing out far worse substances than goblin blood," Loki replied, and then he smirked at Tom's answering grimace.  He walked back to the doorway.  "Dress yourself, and then join me in the outer chamber.  I will answer your questions."  He left the room, closing the door after him. 

Tom was grateful for the privacy.  He didn't want a repeat of the discomfort he had experienced in the bath last night.  He stripped out of Loki's silky sleeping garments and dressed quickly in his own clothing.  The subtle weight of his leather jacket was comfortable and reassuring.  It was a small piece of home in these alien surroundings.  He pulled on his boots, ran his fingers lightly through his hair (which undoubtedly resembled a straw-colored clown wig at this point, but there was not much he could do about that), and walked out into the sitting room beyond. 

Loki was positioned next to a tall window and gazing out across an expanse of water.  It was an impressive view, quite as breathtaking as the scenery which had caught Tom's attention last night.  Loki did not look at him as he entered the room, but he was clearly aware of Tom's presence.  He shifted his stance slightly and then said without looking in Tom's direction, "Are you ready for the hard part, Thomas? 

"Getting kidnapped by goblins wasn't the hard part?" Tom asked.

Loki's lips twitched slightly, but his eyes remained serious.  "Ask your questions, and we will find out."

Well, that was a bit ominous.  His stomach knotting again, Tom attempted to sort through all of the questions which were tangled up in his head.  There were too many.  Snatches of yesterday's cryptic conversation between Loki and Leelta floated through his mind, and then there was Loki's conversation with Thor to consider.  Where to even begin?  "This time yesterday, I didn't know any of this existed," he started, speaking slowly at first.  "I thought you were a myth.  I thought you were a character from legend and a comic book villain.  And now I'm standing here beside you, and I… I look _just like you_.  What is our connection?  What am I to you?"

Loki finally turned from the window to look at Tom.  Any emotions he might be feeling at the moment were carefully shielded from view.  His expression was impassive.  "You are my likeness," he said evenly.

"So I heard, but what does that _mean_?"  Tom demanded.  "Am I supposed to believe that I'm some sort of living portrait that you commissioned from those goblins?"

"Not precisely."

"Then what?"  Tom asked, trying to suppress his frustration and rising panic.  "I have parents, you know.  Trust me, my mum _clearly_ remembers giving birth to me."

"I am aware of that," Loki said with just a touch of frost to his tone. "Your parentage is not in dispute.  Your appearance was designed by Leelta, who used her earth magic to create a simulacrum of my own form, with a few unauthorized alterations.  Then she sang to your soul before your birth, drawing it close enough so that she could gift you with the attributes I specified.  Then you were born."

Tom had no idea what it meant to sing to a soul, but he suspected that the explanation would prove lengthy and would take them far off track.  Instead, he asked, "What 'attributes' are you talking about?"

"Aspects of my own character that were necessary for you to possess," Loki said.

" _Necessary_ ," Tom repeated.  He knew his tone was growing increasingly agitated, but he could barely think through the clash of emotions he was experiencing at the moment.  "Necessary for what, exactly?"

"For you to do as you are doing.  For you to portray me."

It took a moment for that to sink in.  Tom stared at Loki, brows drawing together in confusion.  "For me to-" He paused, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  "Oh my _god_ ," he hissed under his breath.  He squeezed his eyes shut and reached up to clench his hair with shaking fingers.  "You created me just so that I could play you in films?  That's… that's sick.  You can't be serious!"

"You do not understand my purpose," Loki said, his tone becoming harsher.  His mask of calm self-possession was starting to show cracks.  "Many centuries ago, certain mortals from your realm worshiped us.  Their offerings fed our strength.  We lost some of our power when other religions took the place of our pantheon in your realm.  But although your society has changed, it still has its gods; the people of earth still have icons that they revere.  I set out to take advantage of that, to give them a new image to worship.  Because of you, I have a greater number of mortal devotees than ever I did in dark ages of your civilization."

"They aren't worshipping you!"  Tom said, his voice becoming a bit shrill.  "They're fans.  They think you're a fictional character!"

Loki shrugged.  "Their devotion is of a different nature, but it still feeds my magic."

Tom covered his face with his hands.  "Brilliant," he said through clenched teeth, his tone thick with sarcasm. "Thank you, I feel so much better now.  I'm not merely an expression of your vanity; I am a conduit for power."  That was actually worse, somehow.  It would have been humiliating enough to know that he had been designed as some sort of sick ego-boost for the god.  But that wouldn't have thrown a shadow over Tom's whole career, twisting his life's work into a grand scheme to manipulate an unsuspecting public.

Loki's eyes sharpened.  He stepped away from the window and made an impulsive movement in Tom's direction, hand outstretched toward the mortal. "You are more than that, Thomas," he said.

Tom saw Loki's movement out of the corner of his eye and let his hands drop from before his face.   He backed away from the god instinctively, causing Loki to stop in his tracks.  Loki gazed at Tom with a wounded expression that slowly faded into the impassive mask he had worn at the start of their conversation. 

Hating the sight of that indifferent expression on Loki's face, Tom turned to stare blindly out of the window.   He wanted to rage and scream, to grab the nearest heavy object and hurl it through the window with all his strength.  Instead, he took another slow breath and released it, counting off the seconds in his mind until he could feel his heart rate beginning to slow down.

"I have to go back through it all in my mind, now," Tom murmured after a few minutes of silence.  "Every accomplishment I take pride in, every decision I've made, every fortuitous circumstance which led me here: I have to pick them all apart now and try to figure out how much of it was my own doing, and how much of it was your meddling.  I have to question _everything_."

"You are no puppet in my hands, Thomas," Loki replied.  His voice was oddly soothing, but when Tom finally turned to look at him, he saw a coldness in Loki's eyes that unsettled him.  "Your accomplishments are your own.  My guidance was indirect.  Surely you recognize that I would never have allowed you to audition for the part of my brother if I had been directly influencing your every action."

Tom let out a soft laugh that was devoid of any real humor.  He felt physically sick, and his headache from the previous evening had come back with a vengeance.  "It still turned out the way you wanted in the end, didn't it?" he muttered. 

Another silence fell between them.  Loki looked like he had been turned to stone, so stiff and uncompromising was his posture, so frozen was his expression.  There could be a world of pain behind that stare, or mere indifference.  Tom didn't know, and he couldn't even find it in himself to care.  He had his own turbulent emotions to deal with.

The stillness was interrupted by a knock on the door.  Loki said, "Enter," in a voice that was somehow soft, but which still carried across the room.  The door opened and a servant entered with a tray of food.  At any other time, Tom would have been enticed by the mingled scents and curious about the assortment of unfamiliar dishes, but at the moment all he felt was a surge of nausea.

"God, no.  I cannot," he choked out, turning away from the sight of the breakfast tray. "I'm sorry," he added, more for the benefit of the servant than for Loki.

Loki didn't argue with him.  He made a dismissive gesture toward the servant.  "Nevermind.  Take it away."

The servant departed, leaving them alone in awkward silence once more.  Then Loki asked, "Do you have any further questions for me, Thomas?"

Tom let out a harsh sound that might have been a bitter laugh, or possibly a groan.  "No.  I wish I had never asked in the first place.  I wish I could forget all this."

"Do you really wish to forget?"  Loki asked, his voice turning suddenly hard and dangerous.  "That can be arranged, you know."

"No!"  Tom snapped, because that was a truly terrifying thought.  "You've already turned my head inside out and trampled on the pieces that fell out.  You've done enough damage.  I just want to go _home_."

Loki's eyes flashed with a momentary expression of relief, but it was gone so quickly that Tom wasn't entirely sure it had ever been there in the first place.  Without a word, Loki crossed the room toward an ornately-carved chest and knelt before it, running his hands over the dark wood.  Tom heard the god whisper a string of words in a strange language, and then there was an audible click of a lock opening.  Loki lifted the lid of the chest and drew out two objects.  The first was a small pouch of gray velvet, and the second was a long rod of gold-toned metal, shaped a bit like the prop cane Tom had carried during the Stuttgart scene in _The Avengers_.  The cane was set with a large uncut crystal, yellow as sunlight, around which tendrils of metal coiled to hold it in place.  It looked like the metal had grown organically over the crystal like vines twisting around a boulder. 

Loki rose to his feet, taking one item in each hand, and crossed back toward Tom.  "I will take you home," he said, "but first I must ensure than your life is not endangered again as it was yesterday."  He tucked the metal cane into the crook of his left arm to free up his right hand, and then he opened the small velvet pouch.  He drew out a long chain, at the end of which hung a faceted, green gem in a gold setting.  "A small measure for your protection," Loki murmured, lifting the chain over Tom's head so that it settled around his neck.  Tom looked down at the gem, bewildered.  Then Loki placed the gold-toned cane into Tom's right hand.  "For protecting others, if the need ever arises," Loki whispered when Tom turned wary, questioning eyes on him.  The metal rod was lighter than Tom had expected, and it warmed under his fingertips.  He thought he saw a little sputter of light appear within the depths of the yellow crystal before it winked out again.

"It resonates with you," Loki said thoughtfully.  "Good.  I thought it might.  It does not like me."

If that was true, Tom couldn't help sympathizing with the cane.  He did not much like Loki at the moment either.  He had no idea how he was supposed to use Loki's mysterious gifts, and he wasn't sure he wanted them at all.  He was about to open his mouth to address this when Loki began to speak again, cutting him off.

"It will be best if you are unconscious for this method of travel.  It is unpleasant for those who are not used to it," Loki told him as he reached out to grip Tom's shoulders firmly.  He stared into Tom's eyes, and Tom found himself staring right back as the world shifted under his feet. 

"Sleep, Thomas," Loki urged in a soft, compelling voice.  "When you wake, you may treat your visit to the realm of the gods as if it never occurred.  We will not meet again."

Tom's eyelids grew heavy, and he let out a soft breath as his body relaxed.  He began to sway drunkenly on his feet, but he was caught in a pair of strong arms and lifted up.  He could smell warm skin, soap, and a hint of herbs as Loki cradled him close.  Then his eyes drifted shut, and he slept.

 

* * *

 

Tom was awakened by the sound of his cell phone trilling merrily in the pocket of his leather jacket.  Groaning softly, he uncurled his long limbs, which had been drawn up close to his body in a fetal position, and blinked his eyes open.  He was in his own living room, sitting on his sofa.  An unfamiliar weight hung from his neck, and he glanced down to see the green gem suspended from its gold chain.  He absently reached up to curl his fingers around the gem as surveyed his surroundings.  The metal cane with the yellow crystal was on the floor in front of the sofa.  Loki had told him to treat the events of the past two days as if they had never occurred, but how could Tom be expected to do so when he had these two mementos of his experiences?

His phone chirped again insistently.  Tom heaved a soft sigh and dug into his pocket with his free hand to pull out the phone.   Now that he had reception again, he could see that he had missed dozens of calls and texts.  He tried to remember whether he had missed anything important while he had been gone, but he wasn't entirely sure what day it was, let alone what was on his schedule.

Tom accepted the call and lifted the phone to his ear, knowing without checking that it would be his publicist on the line.  He was right.

"Tom, I've been calling all day!  Where are you?" Luke asked with a mixture of concern and exasperation.  "I was about to send out a search party.  What about our meeting this morning?"

Tom grunted softly and rubbed at his eyes.  It must be Tuesday if all he had missed was a meeting with his publicist.  It could have been worse.  "Oh, damn it.  I'm sorry, Luke," he said contritely.

There was a pause, and then Luke spoke again, sounding much more concerned this time.  "What happened?  Are you all right?"

Tom's fingers tightened convulsively around the green gem.  He closed his eyes and leaned back into the sofa cushions.  His head still throbbed dully, and there was an answering ache somewhere in the region of his heart that he didn't want to examine too closely right now.

"I'm fine," he lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. Exposition-heavy chapters are necessary evils sometimes, but hopefully this one wasn't too bad.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Please leave a comment.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom was not very good at holding grudges. 

After his adventure in Asgard, Tom's anger at Loki lasted for approximately two days and six hours.  It was a bit of a struggle to maintain it for even that long, but Loki's offense was dire enough for Tom to make the effort.  The trouble of it was that Tom always became distracted whenever he tried to be angry.  Something would attract his interest or make him laugh, and then he would find it impossible to recapture his previous sense of righteous indignation.   He could act the part of a man fueled by hate and pain, but his own heart craved peace.  So he gave up trying to fan the flames of his own ire rather quickly.

The existential crisis resulting from Loki's revelation lasted a bit longer.  For a full week, Tom questioned the meaning of his life, his interests, his acting career, and even the face that stared back at him from the mirror every day.  But at the end of that week, Tom finally admitted to himself that he was _happy_ with his life, his interests, his acting career, and yes, even ( _or_ _especially_ , whispered that narcissistic corner of his soul) the face that stared back at him from the mirror.  It was pointless to agonize over Loki's interference in his life.  There was nothing about Tom's life that he wanted to change, or at least nothing that had resulted from Loki's machinations.  Loki had promised that Tom was not his puppet, and Tom believed him.  And as long as he had free will, Tom could continue to work hard, pursue his passions, and enjoy life's exciting possibilities as he had always done.  In that respect, nothing had really changed.

But long after the anger and angst faded, a subtle ache remained.  It was a child-like emotion, free of bitterness.  Tom was hurt that he had been left in ignorance about his connection to the god of mischief for so long.  Loki had told him, " _This is a meeting that was never meant to take place,"_ indicating that he had never planned to confront Tom face-to-face with the truth.  If Tom had not been kidnapped and dragged to Asgard by goblins, he never would have known of Loki's existence.  There was something deeply troubling about that thought.  Meeting Loki had been a bit like finding a piece of himself that he had not previously known to be lost.  He could live without it; he had done so for his entire life up to this point.  But now he knew what he had been missing all along, and it itched like a phantom limb after amputation.

Over the next few months, Tom didn't have much spare time to worry over these reflections.  They were still there, floating at the back his mind, but his immediate attention was focused on his work.  Filming for _Thor: The Dark World_ began, and he became immersed in the role of Loki again.  It should have been strange or awkward, knowing as he now did that Loki really existed, but it wasn't.  If anything, it was easier to slip into the role than it had ever been before.  He had seen the god in person.  He had directly observed his mannerisms and heard his voice.  He knew him.

Tom wore the necklace Loki had given him under his clothing.  He had never really made a conscious decision to do so; he just didn't feel like taking it off.  It was always somewhere on his person.  If the chain bearing the faceted green gem wasn't hanging around his neck, it was tucked into a pocket or some convenient fold in one of his costumes.  The thought of removing it was uncomfortable, so he just didn't think about it.  The golden cane was a different matter.  Tom had felt nothing from it since that flare of warmth when he first gripped the handle, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.  It was tucked away in a closet, more or less forgotten.  But the necklace,  he knew instinctively, was important.

Tom got his first inkling of the power contained in the little green gemstone on the night of the BIFA awards.  Before the ceremony, he found himself surrounded by a swarm of people holding out photographs for him to sign.  There was nothing unusual in this.  The crowd was pressing rather close, but he was not particularly distressed.  Getting kidnapped by goblins and then getting splattered with their innards, _that_ was distressing.  Getting mobbed by an overeager crowd of fans and autograph hunters was just part of the job.  Unfortunately, the small gem resting against his breastbone under his shirt did not appear to agree with his assessment of the situation.  The stone rapidly cooled against his skin until it felt like a little shard of ice, and then it began to vibrate with building energy.  Tom sucked in a quick breath, and his smile faltered.  He had no idea what was about to happen, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be pleasant for any of the people crowded around him. 

Forcing himself to speak calmly, Tom asked for everyone to take a step back.  Wonder of wonders, they did as he asked.  He lifted a hand to his chest, seeking out the outline of the gemstone under his clothing.  It really did feel like an ice cube, but after a few more seconds it started to warm against his skin.  The buzz of energy subsided.  Tom let out a soft sigh of relief and went back to signing photographs.

Perhaps he should have stopped wearing the necklace after that incident.  Perhaps it wasn't right to expose the people around him to the potential unleashing of Loki's power just so that Tom could feel safe.  The gemstone clearly wasn't able to distinguish very well between potential threats and minor annoyances.  But Tom still clearly remembered what it had been like to find himself stuffed into a sack.  He still remembered what Leelta's blade had felt like against the tender skin of his neck.  He still remembered the look in Loki's eyes when the god had placed the chain around Tom's neck.   So he wore it anyway.

About a month after the BIFA incident, he found himself in a situation that elicited a true fear response.  It was revealing that, while Tom's heart raced and cold sweat began to bead along his neck, there was no buzz of power from the green gem under his shirt.  Unfortunately, he was too distracted at first to notice the discrepancy.

It happened when Tom returned home after an evening out.  He had just stepped into his flat, which was entirely dark except for the city lights that filtered in from the windows, and closed the door behind him.  He was in the act of reaching for a wall switch when he heard a loud crash from the kitchen.  He froze on the spot, torn between investigating the noise and getting out as quickly as possible.  Escape was the obvious choice.  There was no good reason for anyone to be in his flat, especially with all the lights out.  He should already be on his way out the door, dialing the police.  Yet he still stood there, frozen in indecision.  Automatically, his fingers sought out the little bump under his shirt where the green gem was located.  The gesture had become a restless habit, resorted to whenever he felt uncertain about anything.  That was when it clicked.  The gem was still skin-warmed, and there was not a trace of magic vibrating within it.  It didn't perceive a threat.

Cautiously, Tom stepped further into the flat.  His heart still thudded nervously in his chest, but he was curious now.  Perhaps he was making the biggest – and last – mistake of his life, but he decided to trust his instincts.  Or the gem's instincts, at least.

"Hello?" Tom called, taking another step toward the kitchen doorway.  For a few moments, only silence answered him.  Then there was the rough, wet sound of a laboriously-drawn breath, and then a gut-wrenching groan.

Tom was in the kitchen before he had time to consider what he was doing.  The room was completely dark, but he found the light switch from memory and flicked it on.  Even before the lights came up, he knew what he would find.  The copper tang of blood hit his nose and made him gag.  Then the room was filled with light, and he saw a collapsed form in the center of the tile floor.  An overturned dining chair rested on the floor beside the figure and was undoubtedly the source of the crash Tom had heard a few moments earlier. 

It was Loki who was lying on his kitchen floor.  His green and black court clothing was ripped in front, and blood was oozing out of a stab wound in his stomach.  There were bloody fingerprints on the floor beside him and more on the back of the fallen chair, as if he had been struggling to haul himself to his feet.  But now he lay on his back on the floor, breathing harshly and blinking up at the overhead light as if he didn't know what to make of it.

"Oh my god," Tom choked out, dropping to the floor beside him.  "Loki?  _Fuck_."  He reached out, his hand hovering over the god's torso, but then he withdrew it.  Towel.  He needed a towel.  There were small kitchen towels stored in one of the cabinet drawers near the refrigerator.  Tom snatched three and returned to Loki's side. 

The god's glassy eyes were now fixed on Tom's face.  His pupils were so dilated that his green irises were nearly invisible, giving him a truly unearthly appearance.  His skin was ashen, forming a ghostly contrast with the sweat-dampened black hair which clung to his cheeks and forehead.  Tom brushed a few locks of hair from Loki's face as he pressed his handful of towels to the gash in his stomach.  Loki turned his face into Tom's hand and drew in a ragged breath.

"Thomas," he gasped.

"I'm here," Tom whispered, keeping pressure on the wound with one hand while stroking Loki's cheek lightly with the other.  He didn't know what else to do.  "You need to go to hospital."

Loki huffed out a soft breath that might have been intended as a laugh.  "Mortal healers?" he hissed. "I think not.  I need… rest,"

"You're bleeding all over my kitchen floor," Tom pointed out.  It was odd how steady his own voice sounded in his ears.  The hand that was currently pressing towels against Loki's wound was now soaked in sticky blood.  He stared down at it in fascination, too overwhelmed by the situation to fully comprehend what he was seeing.  Perhaps later he would be sick when he remembered it, but now he just felt strangely detached.

"I am a god," Loki reminded him.  His voice was weak, but he seemed to be growing more aware of his surroundings.  He blinked up at Tom, and his gaze seemed to sharpen.  "I will survive this," he whispered, and it sounded like a pledge.

_He's comforting me_ , Tom thought.  _He's got to be in the worst kind of torment right now, and he's trying to keep_ me _from panicking_.

"Then tell me what to do," Tom said earnestly. 

"Let… me stay."

Tom stared down into the god's eyes, feeling completely helpless.  "Of course," he said softly.  And then more firmly, "Of course you may stay, but there's so little I can do for you.  Don't you have healers in Asgard?"

"None I can trust.  I was… ambushed.  Imbecile that I am, I let them… set me up.  I was not prepared for-" Loki's words were cut off by another gasp of pain.

"All right, that's enough talking," Tom said quickly.  He picked up one of Loki's hands and laid it next to his own over the bundle of towels.  "Press here.  I have to leave for a few minutes.  I need to get a few things so I can bandage you up properly."

"Then go," Loki said hoarsely, "I will not bleed out."

Tom rose a bit shakily to his feet and sprinted out of the room.  He entered his bedroom and pulled out a spare blanket from his closet.  Then he grabbed another towel and a roll of gauze from the washroom. He returned to the kitchen and set his bundle of items to one side.  Then he retrieved a sturdy pair of scissors in a kitchen drawer.  He dropped down beside Loki's prone form once again, scissors in hand.

He cut away Loki's tunic, grateful that the god was not wearing his leather jerkin.  It would not have been enough to shield against a sword thrust, but it would have been more than enough to make undressing Loki a nearly impossible task.  As Tom tugged the remains of the tunic out from under Loki, he was relieved to see that there was no sign of an exit wound.  The blade had not pierced all the way through Loki's abdomen.  Gods be praised for small mercies.

Tom replaced the soaked-through towels with the clean one he had brought from the washroom.  He then proceeded to wrap Loki's torso with the roll of gauze.  When the makeshift bandage was complete, he paused to survey his handiwork.  Loki's eyes were closed and his breathing was harsh.  The bandaging process must have pained him terribly, but he had not uttered a single sound.  His lips were drawn back and his teeth tightly clenched, as if all his screams were caught behind them.

"You can't stay in here," Tom said. "I need to move you to my bed."

"I cannot rise," Loki gritted out.

"I know, and I'm afraid you're too heavy for me to carry that far," Tom said.  "Hence the blanket."

Tom unfolded the large blanket and laid it out flat beside Loki.  He maneuvered Loki into the center of it as gently as he could.  Then, with infinite care, Tom dragged the blanket and its occupant from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom.  As he had suspected, Loki was heavier than he looked.  Considerably heavier than Tom was himself.  He dragged Loki to his bedside and stopped there, panting.  Now came the hard part.  Tom knelt beside Loki and reached under him.

"Drop me," Loki rasped, "and I'll turn you into a paperweight."

"If you have that much magic at your disposal, kindly levitate yourself and spare me a broken back." Tom muttered in protest.  He lifted his burden slowly and carefully, his muscles complaining all the while, and finally settled Loki onto his bed.  His arms felt shaky by the time he was done, and he was sweating. 

Loki looked up at him.  All traces of irritation was gone from his face, although signs of pain remained.  Tom thought he saw a question in the god's eyes.  He picked up the blanket from the floor and tucked it around Loki.  "Rest," he whispered.  "You said you would survive.  I'll hold you to that promise."

The god inclined his head in the barest of nods.  His eyes slid closed. 

After watching him for a few minutes, Tom went to clean up the blood in his kitchen.  Then he scrubbed the blood from his own skin and cleaned it out from under his fingernails.  When he emerged from his shower, he returned to his bedroom to check on Loki.  The god looked strangely small and vulnerable in Tom's bed, but he also looked peaceful.  The lines of pain had smoothed as he fell into deep sleep.

Tom's lips curved into a weary yet contented smile.  It was many months since their first meeting – the meeting that was never meant to take place, as Loki had called it – and now the immortal had intruded upon his life once again.  As the first impressions of shock and horror faded, Tom became aware of a growing sense of… relief.  The missing part of him, that amputated limb, was back.  And this time, he had no intention of being parted from it so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, with this chapter I have gotten pretty specific about where these events fall into Tom Hiddleston's timeline. That definitely increases the likelihood that I will get my Hiddles facts wrong, so please do not hesitate to correct me if you notice a mistake.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

Loki slept for nearly twenty-four hours straight.  Tom spent most of that time in a chair at his bedside, reading or dozing.  Eventually, he left the injured god alone in his flat for long enough to stock up on real bandages, more gauze, and some simple foods that Loki might be able to eat when he had recovered a bit.  Loki was still asleep when Tom returned.

Tom stood over the bed, bandages in hand, and studied Loki critically.  He wasn't quite sure what he should do next.  Would it be helpful or harmful to change Loki's bandages?  Should he try to wash away some of the dried blood that covered Loki?  Should he be worried that Loki still hadn't awakened?  Finally, he decided to pull back the covers and – _carefully_ – open the makeshift bandages to find out whether the wound was still bleeding.  It wasn't, fortunately, although it still looked terrible.  Part of that, he knew, was all the crusted blood which covered the area.  So he cleaned the wound with antiseptic wipes and applied new bandages, hoping he was doing the right thing.  Loki slept through the whole process.

Since the re-bandaging had gone well, Tom decided that he might as well meddle further.  He fetched a damp washcloth and proceeded to clean the dried blood from the sleeping god's pale skin.  He finally steeled himself to remove Loki's bloodstained leggings, boots, and undergarments in order to bathe his lower body as well.  The thoroughness of the job was questionable, since Tom's eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall even as his hand guided the wash cloth over Loki's body.   It was one thing to admire Loki's body while they were bathing together.  To ogle Loki while he lay wounded and unconscious in Tom’s bed would have been disturbing.  When he was finished with his task, Tom covered Loki's nakedness with a fresh blanket.  Then he dropped into his chair at Loki's bedside and let out a sigh of relief.

He was sleeping fitfully, troubled by strange dreams, when Loki finally woke up.  Tom was jerked awake by the sound of a soft groan issuing from the bed.   He blinked a few times as the fog of sleep dissipated and he became aware of his surroundings.  He grunted and rubbed his neck, which was aching due to his awkward sleeping position.  Then there was another groan, and Tom turned to peer at the occupant of his bed.  "Loki?"

Loki's eyes were wide open.  He was staring at the ceiling, and his breaths came in little gusts.  There was sweat beading on his pale forehead.  Slowly he turned his head on the pillow, until his eyes met Tom's.  "Water," he murmured.

"Of course," Tom said.  There was a bottle of water standing on the bedside table in anticipation of Loki's awakening.  Tom helped Loki to drink and used the edge of the blanket to wipe away the drops of sweat from his brow.  The god was looking up at him with pain-clouded eyes.  "I have painkillers I could offer you, but I'm afraid they won't make much difference," Tom said helplessly.

"I have known worse pain than this," Loki said.  He closed his eyes once more, and for a few minutes Tom thought he had gone back to sleep.  But then Loki added, "You have undressed and bathed me."

Tom cleared his throat, feeling his face grow a bit heated.  "I, uh, yes.  Sorry."

"You need not apologize," Loki said in a low voice. "I have no desire to lie caked in filth.  I thank you for your care of me."

"It's no trouble," Tom said earnestly.

Loki's lips spread into a thin smile.  They both knew that was a lie – having a half-dead god of mischief in one's bed was bound to be trouble – but Loki seemed to realize that Tom didn't _mind_ the trouble.  He opened his eyes once more and turned his gaze toward Tom.  "You are too good.  I have taken unfair advantage of your nature."  It was stated as a simple fact rather than as an apology.

Tom felt himself flushing again.  "I'm not good," he protested, frowning down at his patient.  "You were dying in the middle of my kitchen.  What did you expect me to do?  Scrape you off the floor and chuck you out?"

Loki gave a low, harsh-sounding chuckle. "I expected you to do as you have done, because I knew you were too soft-hearted for your own good," he said.  "That is not a quality you received from me.  It must be innate."

Tom wasn't sure how to respond to that, especially since he still wasn't sure he was comfortable with the topic of his own origins.  He offered Loki more water instead.  

After accepting a few more sips of water, Loki fixed his eyes on Tom’s once more.  "You have already forgiven me, haven't you?"  he whispered.

"I forgave you by the end of that first week," Tom admitted with a rueful smile.

Loki's eyes closed.  "That long ago?" he murmured.  "You didn't get _that_ quality from me either.  To think that all this time, I had your forgiveness."

"Would you have visited me if you had known?" Tom asked, leaning forward to watch the god's face more closely.  Even with his eyes closed, Loki's face was expressive.  Right now his mobile brows were scrunched together, but whether in pain or in thought, Tom wasn't sure.

There was a long pause.  Then Loki said firmly, "No."

Tom didn't know why that one word felt so much like a blow.  Loki had never meant to become a permanent part of his life regardless of the connection they shared; Tom had been aware of that fact since their first meeting.  But somehow it still stung a bit to hear Loki's rejection delivered so emphatically.

But apparently Loki wasn't finished.  "I should not be here," he continued, speaking almost too softly for Tom to catch the words.  His eyes were still closed, and his face was still drawn in that troubled frown.  "But although this wound is not fatal, it has rendered me weak as a child.  I will not heal with my usual alacrity."

"Why is that?"

"The blade that struck me appeared to be old and battle-tested.  It was likely forged during the last war against Jotunheim.  Many weapons created at that time were enchanted to be particularly effective against my kind," Loki explained bitterly. "It burns.  I can feel it like fire under my skin, eating at me from the inside.  All my magic is employed in fighting the enchantment.  I have none left with which to defend myself from further attack."

Tom absorbed that in silence for a few minutes.  He noted that his heart rate had sped up and that there was a subtle prickle of cold magic from the green gemstone he wore under his shirt.  The gem was not reacting to his fear this time, but rather to his sudden surge of protective rage.  Someone had deliberately exploited Loki's Jotun ancestry in an attack.  It was a clever and cruel tactic.  "Who attacked you?"  Tom demanded.

Loki opened his eyes and regarded Tom with a mildly curious expression.  He seemed surprised by Tom's angry tone.  "A group of royal guards," he replied.  "But they made it appear as if _I_ had attacked _them_.  The ambush took place outside my brother's chambers, so you understand the implications.  It would not have been the first attempt I made upon Thor's life, after all."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Thor will believe that you planned to kill him.  Judging by the conversation I overheard last year, he seems to know that you have enemies in Asgard," Tom pointed out.  "And your relationship seems to be–"

"Complicated," Loki interrupted.  "It is still very complicated.  There is little enough trust between us in small matters, but in this, I think he will believe me."  He paused, licking his pale lips and frowning at the ceiling.  "That is not the only concern, however," he continued in a lower voice.  "I left three dead guards behind me when I fled.  There will be an investigation and possibly a trial, but I cannot remain in Asgard among my enemies while I am in this weakened state.  They would see to it that I was dead long before my innocence was proven.  I must remain in hiding until I am healed, even though it makes me seem all the more guilty."

Tom watched the frown deepen on Loki's face.  The god's eyes looked dark and hollow, and his mouth was twisted in distaste.  "That bothers you," he commented.  He leaned forward on his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and propped his chin on his hands as he observed Loki's face.  "Your reputation in Asgard is important to you."

"I am Loki Odinson," Loki said simply.  "That name was not important to me a few centuries ago, but it has become so again.  But my reputation…"  His lips twisted in a bitter smile.  "It was never so grand to begin with, and now, all of Asgard despises me.  The worst of it is that they do not hate me for what I have done so much as they hate me for what I _am_.  That which they hate in me is that which I cannot change, so I will never lack for enemies in Asgard.  That is why I kept my distance from you."

"For my protection?" Tom asked dryly.  "And yet you're here now."

The brief look that Loki shot at him in response was such a strange mixture of haughtiness and doubt that it was almost comical.  Then Loki's features eased into an emotionless mask.  "I had nowhere else to go," he said, and it was clear that that simple statement had cost his pride a great deal.

"I'm not suggesting that you shouldn't have come," Tom said hastily, reaching out impulsively to lay a hand on Loki's shoulder.  Loki glanced down at it as if he could not comprehend what it was doing there.  "I just don't understand why there must be a crisis in order for us to meet," Tom continued.  "You left me with so many questions."

"You demanded to be taken home," Loki reminded him.

"At that moment, yes!'  Tom said in exasperation, withdrawing his hand and making a vague, dismissive gesture with it.  "I was angry.  I was overwhelmed.  I didn't know how to process everything you revealed to me.  But within a matter of days I was ready to talk about it – I _needed_ to talk about it – and you weren't there." 

"I am sorry," Loki said quietly.

At those words, the little spurt of frustration died within Tom, and he slumped back in his chair.  He suspected that Loki didn't utter those three words often.  They were a rare gift, and Loki's tone suggested that he truly meant them.  "It doesn't matter," Tom sighed.  "You're here now."

"Under less than ideal circumstances," Loki said in a dull voice, "and possibly bringing ruin in my wake.  You see how I treat that which is most important to me."

Tom abruptly straightened in his chair as Loki's last words registered in his mind.  A strange, foolish sort of happiness bubbled up within him.  Against his will, his lips curved into a small smile.  "Am I that important to you?"

Loki looked first startled by the question, and then affronted by it.  "Was I so unclear on that point?" he asked in a tone of irritation softened by weariness.

Tom considered this for a few minutes, replaying key moments from his little Asgardian holiday in his head.  He remembered the brief, arrested look in Loki's eyes when Leelta set her knife against Tom's throat.  He remembered a silken voice calling him _"my mortal."_   He remembered his own bitter comment that he was just Loki's conduit for power, and he remembered Loki's quick, urgent response: _"You are more than that, Thomas."_   He remembered the heartfelt relief on Loki's face when Tom said that he did not want to forget him.  Last of all, he remembered a pair of strong arms holding him close as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

"Perhaps not," Tom replied softly.  "Perhaps I wasn't paying enough attention."

Loki made a humming sound deep in his throat and let his eyes fall shut.  He adjusted his position on the bed, as if attempting to burrow deeper under the blanket.  "It is uncomfortable to care for things," he commented absently.  "I do not recommend it."

"I think it might be too late for me," Tom admitted.  He leaned forward to draw the blanket up further and to tuck it more closely around Loki's form.

The pinched look of pain was easing on Loki's face.  His expression softened; sleep clearly beckoned to him.  "Too late to care?" he murmured.

Tom stroked his fingers lightly over the top of the blanket.  It was woven in a swirling pattern in muted colors, and he traced the swirls with his fingertips.  Loki made another deep humming sound, this time in sleepy approval at the touch.

"Too late not to," Tom said.

"Fool," Loki whispered.

Tom smiled ruefully.  "Probably," he agreed.  "Now go back to sleep."

Loki appeared to obey this command, for he did not make another sound besides the soft sigh of his breaths.  Tom hoped that the god had found a sleep so deep and peaceful that the pain could not reach him there.

Tom leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.  The armchair was still uncomfortable, but at least his mind was more at rest.  He might even be able to get a bit more sleep now that he knew Loki's life was not in any immediate danger from his wound.  His brain was teaming with an endless supply of questions for the god, but they could all wait.  Everything else could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

Tom cancelled all of his engagements for the next few days and barely stepped out of his flat during that time.  Loki slept almost constantly, but when he was awake, he needed Tom's help to do everything.  Tom soon gave up on any attempt to preserve Loki's modesty.  The god was clearly frustrated by his own weakness, but he didn't seem to be self-consciousness when Tom fed him, bathed him, changed his bandages, and assisted him with less pleasant tasks.  Either Loki was so used to being waited upon that he felt no embarrassment, or he simply trusted Tom enough to allow the mortal to see him at his most vulnerable.  Tom hoped it was the latter.

Loki's recovery would have been amazingly rapid for a human, but Tom was still worried.  The wound had closed and was healing well, but Tom suspected that Loki was still experiencing bouts of pain from the anti-Jotun enchantment in his blood.  Sometimes Loki grimaced in his sleep, and a few times he woke himself up with his soft groans.  There was so little that Tom could actually do to help that he sometimes found himself even more frustrated by the situation than Loki was.

Eventually, Tom knew he had to return to his regularly scheduled life.  He had made some fumbling excuses about being too sick to leave his apartment, but if he kept it up someone – probably Luke – would get worried enough to show up on his doorstep, and wouldn't that just be awkward.  By this time, Loki was able to hobble around the apartment if he leaned on Tom.  If Tom got crutches for Loki's use, then perhaps the god would be able to move around on his own while Tom was out.  But Tom didn't own a pair of crutches.  What he _did_ own was a gold cane set with an uncut yellow crystal.

When Tom propped the cane against the headboard of the bed, Loki looked down at with evident distaste.  "What is this doing here?"  Loki was sitting up in the bed, surrounded by pillows, with Tom's copy of _The Brothers Karamazov_ open on his lap.  Yesterday, he had been reading _Crime and Punishment_.  Tom fervently wished that he had been given Loki's speed reading skills along with some of his other attributes.

"You need help getting around, and I can't spend all my time barricaded in this flat," Tom said.  "I have meetings, and events, and this trip to West Africa just a few short weeks from now that I need to prepare for.  With this you can get to the kitchen and the washroom without my help.  Just until you get a bit stronger."

"It isn't a cane," Loki informed him coldly.  "It's a staff.  And I told you, it doesn't like me."

Tom glanced at the staff, which was apparently masquerading as a cane.  It was standing innocently where he had left it.  "It looks pretty harmless," Tom pointed out.

Loki's brows lifted.  He stared silently at Tom, as if inviting him to revise his assessment.

Tom just shrugged, exasperated.  "Fine, I'll order you some crutches.  But could you try to make friends with the cane in the meantime?"

Loki gave the cane – or staff, or whatever it was – another dirty look, but then he gave a brief nod in acquiescence and went back to his reading.

 

* * *

 

 A few days later, Tom returned to his flat after a late dinner out to find Loki curled up in Tom's bed, asleep, with an open collection of Shakespeare's sonnets lying next to him.  Tom picked up the volume, curious, and looked down at the open pages.  The first words to catch his eye were the opening lines of Sonnet LXIV.  With a slight frown, he sank into the armchair beside the bed and murmured the words aloud,

     "When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced,  
     The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;  
     When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,  
     And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;  
     When I have seen the hungry ocean gain  
     Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,  
     And the firm soil win of the watery main,  
     Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;  
     When I have seen such interchange of state,  
     Or state itself confounded to decay;  
     Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate  
     That Time will come and take my love away.  
         This thought is as a death which cannot choose  
         But weep to have that which it fears to lose."

When he had finished reading, he lifted his eyes to find Loki awake and peering at him thoughtfully, his cheek still resting on a pillow.  "Why this one, in particular?"  Tom asked, although he thought he knew the answer.

"Because I have witnessed all these events," the god whispered.  "In some cases, I have instigated them.  And I know that I will live to see them all happen again."

Tom closed the volume, shutting out the ominous words.  "I guess time means something different to gods, doesn't it?" he said, trying to keep his tone airy even though his throat felt oddly tight.

"It still rules over us," Loki said.  "And having a greater abundance of time simply means that we have more to lose.  That is time's curse.  And yet we all cling to it for as long as we can, partaking of its gifts and enduring its punishments."

Tom glanced down at the battered cover of the well-loved volume in his hand.  He turned it over slowly as he lost himself in thought.  When he finally raised his eyes to Loki's face, he saw that the god's brows were raised in a silent question.

"You know, you're not what I expected," Tom said, setting the book on the table beside the bed.  "I feel like my portrayal of you was a bit… off.  You're not blinded by pride, or anger, or hate.  You're wiser than I gave you credit for.  You're not as lost as I thought."

Loki chuckled softly.  He pushed himself up into a sitting position so that his eyes were level with Tom's.  "I have been lost, Thomas.  Your portrayal of me was not wrong.  But in recent years I have begun to find my way back."

"How much of what happened in the movies is true?  Obviously, you didn't bring an army of Chitauri to attack earth any time recently, but did any of the other things really happen?"

Loki reached out to retrieve the volume of sonnets from the bedside table.  He began to thumb through the pages absently as he replied.  "Most of the events of the first movie did occur, but it was centuries ago.  Thor was banished to earth and remained here much longer than a few days.  It was nearly an entire human lifetime, actually.  He married a human woman and had many sons and daughters.  I expect that his descendents still roam the earth without any knowledge of their heritage."

Tom leaned forward eagerly.  Finally, he was getting the answers to some of his lingering questions.  "Did Thor really start a war with Jotunheim, then?"

Loki's didn't raise his eyes from the book.  "He did.  And before you ask, yes, it happened because I arranged for the disruption of his coronation ceremony.  I did not foresee all of the consequences that would result.  The war with Jotunheim waged on for years.  I think the greatest punishment for Thor was not the fact that he was banished to earth as a mortal, but rather that he was unable to participate in the war as a result."  He smiled grimly. 

"It was during the war that I began to suspect my true parentage.  And it was not until the Jotnar were defeated that I confronted Odin, and he explained who I was.  He fell into the Odinsleep after that, leaving me with the aftermath of a war to clean up.  But I was not the only one to have noticed my immunity to the Jotnar's touch.  Rumors spread rapidly through Asgard that I was actually a Jotun.  No one could prove it, but I believe they all _wanted_ to believe it.  I was never a favorite in Asgard, you know."

Tom smiled sadly and nodded.  "I _had_ gotten that impression."

Loki's eyes were still fixed blindly upon the pages of the book he held in his lap.  There was no expression on his face.  Just that blank mask that Tom was learning to recognize as a mark of pain, not of true indifference.

"Many people called for the end of Thor's banishment.  Everyone wanted him to return and take the throne away from me," Loki continued.  "Even Mother expressed the wish that Thor could return and take his birthright.  I was… unwilling."

There was a subtle change in Loki's tone and demeanor now.  He spoke more carefully, as if he was examining every word before he spoke it.  His brows drew together slightly.  "I sent the destroyer to kill him… and his wife… and his children."

Tom could not hold back his exclamation of protest.  "His children?  Please tell me you didn't…"

Loki's expression immediately turned forbidding.  He closed his book with a snap and turned cold eyes in Tom's direction.  "Did I not just tell you that his descendents live on throughout the earth?  I did not touch the children.  I did not harm his wife.  I speak of my intentions, not of my actions.  I was prevented from carrying out my design.  Thor's immortality was restored to him, and he defended his family.  Then he returned to Asgard to oust me from power.  I escaped and spent centuries moving through the nine realms, making enemies wherever I went.  It is a peculiar talent of mine, as you may have noticed."

Tom decided that he wasn't going to agree with that, even though he certainly had noticed.  He had already managed to incense the god.  Instead, he asked, "When did you return to Asgard?  I know you said that your relationship with Thor is complicated, but you call him 'brother.'  You seem to have some sort of understanding with him.  How did that come about?"

The frost in Loki's eyes began to thaw.  He glanced back down at the book in his hands, running his finger along the binding absently.  "That was Odin's doing.  He found me in one of my secret haunts, licking my wounds after an unpleasant confrontation with a group of trolls with whom I had a slight disagreement.  He made an offer that I found too tempting to resist."  His brows drew together in confusion, as if he still couldn't figure out how Odin had managed to persuade him.

"What was his offer?"

"He asked me to become his advisor," Loki said simply.

Tom considered this for a moment.  Yes, that was a clever move on Odin's part.  Tom could understand why Loki would feel tempted by such an offer.  Loki was used to living in other people's shadows and having his words discounted as lies, and then Odin had offered him a position of great power and influence over the throne.  But the Loki that Tom was most familiar with – the fictional Loki from the movies – wanted nothing less than the throne itself.  "I can understand why you would consider his offer, but wasn't it too little too late?"

"You forget that my rage had had centuries to burn itself out by that time," Loki said quietly.  "And it was my father – my _true_ father, though his blood does not flow through my veins – begging my forgiveness for his mistakes, promising me acquittal for my own, and telling me that he would henceforth listen to me in a way that he never had before.  Yes, it was very tempting indeed.  I was tired of living in exile.  I missed my home.  I missed the privilege of calling myself Odinson.  It was no defeat; it was a renegotiation of terms."

"You told Leelta that you _never_ renegotiate," Tom reminded him, lifting his hand to rub his mouth in an effort to hide his smile.

Loki's expression remained serious, except for his eyes, which sparkled with sudden mischief.  "I lied."

Tom chuckled.  "Apparently so.  What was it like returning to Asgard after all that time?  How were you received?"

The light of humor died in Loki's eyes.  "Mother was pleased, but she worried for my safety in Asgard.  Thor was wary at first, but eventually he took the first steps in repairing our relationship.  It is a work in progress, even now.  Odin kept his word and consulted me in my capacity as his advisor on almost every issue that arose.  When he entered Odinsleep and Thor became the acting king, he kept me on as advisor.  All of that was well enough.  But in general, I was not well received.  Asgard hates me for my past betrayals, but it hates me even more for my Jotun blood.  That will never change."

"Why not?" Tom interrupted.  Loki just blinked at him, so he continued, "Attitudes can change. It might take a while, but that's one of the advantages of having time on your side."

Loki tilted his head, regarding Tom with an odd little smile.  "Your optimism is endlessly endearing," he murmured, "but Asgard will never truly accept a frost giant in the palace.  Since my return to Asgard, I have sought ways to make myself stronger so that I can fend off attacks from my enemies.  Attacks such as the one that occurred recently, for instance. You were one of the measures I took to increase my power.  But you know that."

"I didn't know _why_ you needed to increase your power," Tom said.  He licked his lips, processing everything he had just heard.  It was a lot to take in, and it definitely put a new construction on some of Loki's actions.  "You should have explained all this to me from the beginning."

Loki shook his head, the little smile still playing at his pale lips.  He opened the book on his lap and began turning pages.  This time he seemed to be searching for a specific page.  "It would not have changed your reaction," he said as he searched.  "You still would have felt used.  And I _have_ made shameless use of you.  I originally meant for you to be a mere tool.  I never meant for you to become my center: the motivation for all things."

Tom flushed and swallowed hard.  "H-how long have you felt that way?"  he stammered.

Loki was still looking down at the book in his lap.  He had settled on one page now, but Tom was too distracted by their conversation to look at which particular sonnet Loki had turned to.  "I have watched over you your whole life," Loki was saying.  "You were still just a child when I first realized that you were becoming important for your own sake, not merely for the power that you could bring me.   You were a young man when I realized that nothing was as important to me as your safety.  And when I met you face to face…"  He looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable.  It was such an honest, open look that Tom felt the nagging urge to look away out of respect.  Surely Loki of all people didn’t intend to show him this.

"What have you done to me, Thomas?" Loki murmured.

Tom did lower his head then, unable to meet Loki's eyes any longer.  "I don't know."

Silence stretched between them.  Tom didn't even know what he was thinking anymore.  His mind was too disordered for him to settle on any one thought. 

"Read to me, Thomas," Loki urged softly, as if he recognized that Tom had no words of his own to speak in that moment.

Tom blinked and lifted his eyes to meet Loki's.  He held his hand out for the book, but Loki shook his head and patted the spot next to him in the bed.  Feeling strangely shy, Tom climbed into his bed and looked over Loki's shoulder at the page that he indicated.  It was Sonnet XVIII, and Loki was pointing at line nine. 

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade," Tom began reading, "Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st…"

Half an hour and a few dozen sonnets later, Tom was fast asleep with his head pillowed on Loki's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize for how long it took for me to write and release this chapter. I have been battling work-related stress and severe sleep deprivation for the past few weeks, but I feel like I'm back on track now.

Tom awakened to the sensation of soft curls tickling his cheek and a warm body curled around him.  For a moment he was completely disoriented.  Where was he?  Was he in his own bed?  It was a strange concept after over a week of sleeping in a chair or on his sofa.  He opened his eyes and blinked, dazzled by the light from the bedside lamp, which had apparently been left on.  Yes, this was definitely his bed, and he was definitely spooning with the god of mischief while fully dressed.  And yes, that was his volume of Shakespeare's sonnets which was digging uncomfortably into his ribs.  Tom huffed out a soft laugh, tossed the book aside, and stretched out a hand to switch off the light.  But he was arrested in the act by the muted sound of nearby voices. 

Tom froze, listening.  The voices were coming from somewhere within the flat, probably from the living room. Tom shot an anxious glance at Loki, but the god had not even stirred.  Tom had already noticed Loki's tendency to sleep like one drugged.  He suspected that it was a temporary trait, a byproduct of the god's healing process.  Under ordinary circumstances, Loki probably slept like a cat.  But for now, Loki was dead to the world and frighteningly vulnerable.  And someone was in the flat who didn't belong there.  Several someones by the sound of it.

Tom slipped out of the bed as carefully and quietly as he could manage.  Now that he was fully alert, he noticed a slight prickle of cold again his chest.  The green gemstone did not like his mysterious visitors.  Although the cold magic was slightly uncomfortable against his skin, he was grateful for its reassuring presence. 

He started to creep toward his bedroom door, but then he returned to the bedside as a thought occurred to him.  The gold cane was still in the spot it had been occupying for the last few days, propped up against the headboard of Tom's bed.  He snatched it up, recalling Loki's words as he had given it to Tom.  _"For protecting others, if the need ever arises."_

When Tom slipped out of his bedroom, he saw that the hallways and rooms beyond were still dark.  But although his uninvited guests had somehow entered the apartment without setting off the alarm, and although they had refrained from turning on any lights, true stealth was obviously not their object.  Tom could hear the murmur of their voices, growing louder and clearer as he approached the living room. 

"–will not be difficult to subdue, but you'd best leave him to me," came a woman's voice. "Your subtlety is renowned, but I have never yet heard you called 'gentle,' and it is said that mortal bones snap like dried twigs at the barest application of force."

"So you are to be the gentle one.  That describes you well," came a softer, more strongly accented voice belonging to a man.

"If I did not believe you to be speaking sardonically, I would drive this blade into your back," the woman replied cheerfully.

"I doubt it not," the man murmured. "But stay… I thought I heard something."

Tom froze in the hallway and considered his next move.  Attempting to sneak up on his visitors would accomplish nothing, especially if they were who he thought they were.  Confrontation was the only course of action.  So he straightened and walked confidently out into the living room, flicking on an overhead light as he entered the room.  He paused in front of the doorway, gripping the cane more securely in his right hand.  He was not surprised by the sight that met his eyes, but he was impressed by it.

Two people, presumably Aesir, stood before him.  The woman was the taller of the two and the more heavily armored.  She had fair skin, but both her hair and her eyes were dark.  She was clad in gleaming plate and mail armor.  She held a small shield in one hand, and clasped a short sword in the other.  The expression on her face was a mixture of surprise and anticipation.  The man beside her had a slighter build.  He wore mostly dark leather, and what little metal armor he wore was dulled so that it did not reflect light.  Several daggers were strapped to his arms and legs, and Tom suspected that there were at least half a dozen other weapons hidden on his person.  The man's face bore no expression at all, but his stance was one of readiness.

"Lady Sif and Hogun, I presume?" Tom said, feeling that it was a pretty safe guess.  He glanced briefly around the room, but it appeared that the Asgardians had not disturbed anything.  He did notice that one of the French doors at the far end of the room stood slightly ajar.  The doors opened out onto a small balcony.  That explained how the Asgardians had gotten into the flat, although it didn't explain how they had managed to open the French doors without setting off the alarm.  Apparently Tom's security system was not god-proof.

Sif inclined her head in acknowledgement.   Her eyes flickered from Tom's face to the gold cane in his hand, but if she considered it much of a threat she did not show any signs of it.  Tom could have told her that it wasn't the cane she should be worried about at that moment.  The gemstone under his shirt was so cold that the skin underneath it was going numb, and he could feel the magic within readying itself for something.

"You must be Loki's likeness, for you truly resemble him.  You are called Thomas, I believe?" Sif said, and Tom nodded silently in reply.  "I regret that we must intrude upon your dwelling in this manner," she continued.

"Thank you," Tom replied, managing with a supreme effort of will to keep his tone free of sarcasm, "that is extremely thoughtful of you.  I guess you're here for Loki.  How did you know he was here?"

"It was Thor who said we would find him here," Hogun said softly. 

Sif nodded.  "It made sense that he would come to this realm.  Midgard is one of the largest realms – easier for him to disappear – and he has fewer enemies here.  And besides that, you are here.  I must say, if he really cared about you, he would not have come to you and endangered you in this way."

Feeling a twinge of irritation – along with a much stronger twinge of power coming from the gemstone – Tom cleared his throat pointedly.  "Thank you," he said, his voice was starting to sound a bit strained, "but it's not Loki who is making me feel endangered at the moment."  He was fighting against the gemstone now, mentally commanding it to rein in its icy power.  It seemed to be listening to him, but he wasn't sure how long he could master it.  He was pretty sure he knew what the gemstone was, now.  It was pure, isolated magic in crystal form, and it was as temperamental as the god from which it had originated.  He wondered exactly how much magic Loki had sacrificed to create it, and whether it had always been intended for Tom's use.

"We mean you no harm, Thomas," Sif said in a tone that was probably meant to be soothing. Sif didn't do 'soothing' very well.  Her voice was too forceful, her posture too menacing.  "You need not be involved in this at all."

Tom smiled at that and gave a slight, apologetic shrug.  "I am already involved though, aren't I?"

"You do not–"

"You have broken into my flat in the dead of night, armed to the teeth.   I think I have a right to protest," Tom said, keeping his tone as light as possible, considering the increasing willpower required to keep the gem's magic in check.  "And I have a right to defend my guest."

"Asgard does not recognize your rights in this matter, mortal," Sif said.  Her tone was frank, as if she was stating a simple fact that should be self-evident.  As if she could not even contemplate a scenario in which a mortal's rights would have any particular relevance.

"Not Asgard as a whole, perhaps," Tom said quietly, "but I thought Thor might, at least."

"It is on Thor's expressed orders that we are here," Sif said implacably.  "Loki is responsible for the death of three of the king's own personal guards.  Whatever justifications Loki might have for the killings, Loki must return to Asgard and remain there until the matter is thoroughly investigated."

Tom relaxed ever-so-slightly.  "So Thor is willing to recognize that Loki might have has some justification for his actions.  That's good," he murmured.  "But he should also recognize that Loki might have a good reason for staying away from Asgard right now."  He took a step forward and reached out with his free hand in a pleading gesture.  "He was badly wounded, and his recovery has been slow.  He has almost no way to protect himself right now.  If you take him to Asgard now, someone will finish him off."

"He'll have guards," Hogun said, his tone flat and unconcerned.

"Damn it, it was guards who _did this to him_ ," Tom said, reaching up to tug at his short curls in distracted irritation. 

Sif's expression hardened, while Hogun continued to stare almost blankly at him.  They either didn't believe him, or they didn't care about Loki's safety.  Or they simply intended to carry out their king's orders without regard for the consequences.  Yes, that was it.  They were immortal soldiers.  The arguments of a mere human were hardly likely to sway them from their assigned mission.   

Tom's grip tightened further on the golden cane in his hand.  The metal was becoming strangely warm under his palm, but he didn't look down at it.  Meanwhile, the sensation of numbness caused by the icy gem under his shirt was beginning to spread across his chest.  Keeping a grip on the magic was taking nearly all of his attention now, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it back.  He wasn't sure he even wanted to anymore. 

"Your expressions are not very reassuring," Tom commented.  He surprised himself by speaking very gently.  A strange sort of calm was creeping over him, layered over the tension of holding back Loki's magic. "This doesn't have to get complicated," he continued, offering the Asgardians a smile.  "You can return to Asgard now.  You can tell Thor that I will only let Loki go if he comes here himself and swears upon his honor that he will not leave Loki's side for an instant until Loki is fully recovered.  You can deliver that message to your king, but you will not be leaving here with Loki today.  I hope I've made myself clear."

Sif and Hogun exchanged a brief look.  Hogun's lips twitched.  "I'll leave him to you then?  Remember to be gentle."

Sif just smirked in reply.

Several things happened at once, then.  Hogun and Sif both advanced towards Tom: Hogun with the clear intention of stepping around Tom to reach the hallway beyond, and Sif with the equally-clear intention of "subduing" Tom in some non-lethal manner.  At the same moment, Tom released his mental hold on the gemstone's power.  He was gripped in a sudden, overwhelming flood of sensation.  Ice ran through his veins, and his suddenly-labored breaths came out in frosty white puffs.  The air grew arctic.  Ice crackled and spread under his feet, across the walls, over the furniture, until nearly every surface was covered. 

Tom turned briefly to watch over his shoulder as the ice crept up the edges of the doorway leading into the hall.  The ice jutted out in frozen spikes, filling the whole doorway with a spiny, crystalline barrier.  The path to the bedroom, to Loki, was cut off.  His guests would have to deal with _him_ first.  And that prospect didn't scare him at all.  He was excited, even eager.  The creeping cold under his skin felt like an old friend.  It was Loki, embracing him, flooding him with heady power. 

Tom turned back to his two uninvited guests to find them both gaping at him.  Sif and Hogun stood on a small patch of floor that was not covered in ice, but they were completely surrounded in a wintery landscape.

"What are you?" Sif hissed, her eyes wide and angry.

"I'm Loki's mortal," Tom said rather breathlessly, his voice roughened by the chill.  Surely they needed no further explanation than that.  Loki had ensured that Tom was protected, just as he had promised.  But then Tom realized that the Asgardians' eyes were not fixed upon the ice, nor even upon Tom himself.  They were staring at the object he held in his right hand.  That was when Tom realized that the warmth under his palm was beginning to spread up his arm, mingling with Loki's icy power in the most peculiar way. 

The cane in his hand was changing, extending until it reached the floor.  Gold tendrils, like the ones which held the (now fiercely glowing) yellow crystal in place now crept over the rest of the staff, making it appear that the entire length of it was wrapped in vines.  Delicate golden leaves and buds sprouted along the edges of the tendrils.  Meanwhile, the warmth continued to spread throughout Tom's body, not counteracting the icy presence of Loki's magic, but coexisting with it.  Tom tilted his head back, his breath becoming even more labored as he tried to accustom himself to this latest development.

"Is that the Staff of Sumer?" Hogun asked Sif in a low voice.

"It looks like it," Sif said, huffing out a breath.  She sounded annoyed, and slightly confused.  "Loki must have stolen it from Alfheim."  She took a step toward Tom, and ice crackled under her boot heel.

"This is a mistake," Hogun warned.  "He carries the blessing of Frey, and he is protected by Jotun magic.  It is a bad combination."

Sif hesitated, eyeing the staff, and then peering thoughtfully at Tom's face, which probably expressed even more confusion at that moment than hers did.  "It could be an illusion.  One of Loki's tricks," she suggested.

"The staff, perhaps.  Not the ice," Hogun grunted.  "We are at an impasse, Sif.  We cannot subdue the human gently, and we cannot harm him according to Thor's decree."

"Are you suggesting that we return to Asgard to inform our king that we were bested by a mere mortal?" Sif hissed angrily.

Tom listened to them argue with a sense of detachment.  The meaning behind their words didn't reach him; instead, his mind was entirely focused on the sensations running through his body.  It felt like all the forces of summer and winter were swirling together under his skin.  He closed his eyes, still trying to get a handle on this twitchy, restless, icy, burning, _alive_ feeling.  He had no idea whether such powers were his to contain or control, or whether he was just their vessel.

His attention was finally caught by Hogun's next words. 

"As he said, he is _Loki's_ mortal. Thor will understand," the warrior was saying in a tone clearly intended to be reasonable, but which came off as slightly… concerned.  Not frightened; there was little doubt that he had found himself in far stranger situations than this one in his thousand-plus-year existence.  But he did sound vaguely uncomfortable.

"If we return to Asgard empty-handed, Thor will come himself to fetch Loki," Sif replied, turning to direct the words at Tom.  "You realize that, don't you?"

Tom adjusted his grip on the gold staff and blinked at her slowly.  He was finding it a little difficult to remember how to form words.  "I count on it," he managed finally.  "Just remember my message to him."

"Your temerity is staggering, mortal."

Tom had to smile at that.  Most people probably wouldn't find that description of him particularly apt, but he readily embraced it.  He offered her only a light shrug in reply.

"Very well, then," Sif muttered.  "We will depart.  Count yourself fortunate that we are willing to leave peacefully."

"Oh, I do," Tom said with perfect truth.  It was definitely his preference to minimize any damage his flat sustained.

He watched them make their way back toward the French doors.  Sif spun away quickly, moving with sure steps over the ice-covered floor, but Hogun retreated more slowly, keeping his head cocked so that he could track Tom out of the corner of his eyes.  When they had exited the flat and leapt, apparently heedless of the multi-story drop, over his balcony railing, Tom let out a long breath and looked around.

His living room was still encased in ice such that it looked like a glacial cavern, and there was still a spiky barrier separating him from the hallway to his bedroom.  The air was crisp with cold, but it did not trouble him.  It was the inaccessibility of his bedroom, and the probable water damage to his hardwoods and furnishings as the ice slowly melted, which concerned him most.

"I wonder," he murmured, shifting the golden staff back and forth between his hands, enjoying the friendly warmth which flowed from the metal to his palms.  "I wonder…"

He set the end of the staff upon the layer of ice on the floor, and it slowly sank as its warmth melted the ice.  Tom let his eyes slide shut and focused on that subtle heat within his body, flowing like liquid sunlight through his veins, and gave it a mental push.  If he could use his willpower to restrain the Jotun powers within Loki's gemstone, it followed that he could use the same mental concentration to wield this other, opposite power as well.  The magic squirmed within him like an untrained puppy with too much energy and too little discipline, but if he could only focus…

The air grew warmer by degrees, but he did not open his eyes.  He was too busy concentrating and too afraid of distraction.  A light breeze began to waft around him, smelling of sweet rain.  Finally he dared to crack his eyes open.  The ice was fading away from every surface in the room as intended, melting and evaporating so quickly that it left no sign that it had ever been there in the first place.  He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.  Then his attention was drawn to the icy barrier in the hall doorway.

The frozen spikes forming the barrier dripped as they melted, but every drop changed into invisible mist before it reached the ground.  As the structure slowly dissolved, the figure standing on the opposite side of it became visible.  Tom drew in a quick breath at the sight of Loki, wrapped in a blanket and leaning heavily upon one wall of the hallway, staring at him with a look of rapt attention bordering on awe.

Tom stared back, uncertain of what to say under these surreal circumstances.  He licked his lower lip nervously, and then pointed at the golden staff in his hand.  "You were right.  It, uh… it is a staff," he announced intelligently.

Loki's drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  His expression took on a suggestion of rueful amusement. "Very observant, Thomas."

As the last traces of ice disappeared, Tom suddenly found himself in the grip of a strong sense of exhaustion.  The magic which had been buzzing inside of him seemed to have quieted.

"You still haven't told me everything yet, have you?" Tom asked wearily.

Loki pursed his lips.  He wore a ruminative expression as his eyes darted between Tom and the staff.   Then he dipped his head in a brief nod.  "It would appear not," he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment!


	8. Chapter 8

"In my defense," Loki murmured, gazing up at the ceiling, "this is merely something I suspected.  I have only now had my suspicions confirmed."

They were in Tom's bedroom again, since Tom had insisted on escorting Loki back to bed.  Loki's protests had been half-hearted at best, for although the god was clearly growing bored with his confinement, he was still much too weak to move about the flat freely.  His excursion down the hallway to the living room, brief as it had been, had tired him.  Now Loki was back under the covers in Tom's bed, his dark hair fanned out over the white pillowcase. 

Tom only grunted.  As keen as he was to hear Loki's explanation, he was battling a deep sense of lethargy in the wake of his first use of magic.  He was finding it rather difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing, such as disposing of the golden staff – which had reverted to its original size and shape – and undressing for bed.  He finally tossed the staff onto his side of the bed (he was too tired to notice that he was already thinking in terms of his side of the bed and Loki's) and began to tug off his shoes and socks. 

Loki's turned his head on the pillow, and his brows drew together as he gazed at the staff.  "You really should take care not to leave that too close to me," he warned Tom.

Tom heaved a put-upon sigh, but he retrieved the staff anyway and made his way to his closet.  "Right.  Because it doesn't like you," he said as he tucked the staff into the back corner of the closet.  "Only you could make an enemy of an inanimate object."

"Inanimate objects do not change their shape or sprout foliage, Thomas.  It is an _animate_ object.  An object of power.  Such weapons have their own personalities, eccentricities, and prejudices."

Tom removed his shirt and shucked off his jeans, and then he crawled under the covers beside Loki.  He heaved a grateful sigh at the feel of the soft mattress and the warm blankets surrounding him.  "Mmm.  Let's start with your explanation of the staff, in that case," he murmured, turning his head on the pillow to look at Loki.  "Hogun called it the Staff of Sumer.  I assume that means summer?"

"It does," Loki confirmed.  He shifted slightly, and his gaze swept over Tom's form, now obscured by blankets.  His expression was speculative.

Tom swallowed.  Some of his exhaustion faded as a sweet warmth stole through his body.  They were not touching, but they were so close that Tom could feel the light kiss of Loki's breaths from across the pillow.  Reminding himself that Loki was still much too weak to explore any of the desires that Tom had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore since their first meeting, Tom cleared his throat.

"Did you steal the staff from Alfheim?" he asked and was pleased to find his voice only slightly roughened by the carnal direction of his thoughts.

There was a glint of understanding in Loki's eyes, and his lips pressed together as if he was suppressing a faint smile.  "I acquired it from Frey's vaults."

"And Frey is…"

"The king of Alfheim."

"And also a god?"

"Indeed."

Tom brought his arm under his head so he could prop up his chin.  He gazed at Loki, who was now wearing his most unabashedly mischievous expression.  "So you stole a magical weapon from the treasury of a king, who also happens to be a god.  Loki, you do realize that there are reasons why you have enemies in every realm, right?"

Loki grinned, but he shook his head.  "You do not understand.  Liberating the staff was an act of the purest generosity.  Frey was not using it, and it was just resting in a chest, collecting dust."

"Ah.  And once you 'liberated' the staff, what did you do with it?"

Loki's eyes glittered with humor as he murmured,  "Placed it in a chest?"

"Mmm.  That's what I thought."

"I was planning to use it myself,"  Loki explained.  "I have rarely found an object of power that I could not manipulate.  But this one was so foreign to my own magic, to my very nature, that I could not use it.  Any attempt to wield its power proved abortive and left me feeling vilely ill."

Tom tilted his head a bit to one side, watching the play of emotion over Loki's face.  The amusement had faded, and the god was looking dissatisfied and even vaguely apprehensive. 

"Its power is the power of the elves," Loki continued.  "Softness and warm light, rich soil and growing things.  Frost kills many tender buds, but spring always defeats winter in the end."

On impulse, Tom reached out to run his fingers through Loki's soft black hair.  The gesture was meant to be one of comfort, since Loki's tone as he had uttered that last sentence had been thick with self-disgust.  But Loki stiffened under Tom's touch.  He was just like a cat, purring one moment then bristling the next when someone dared to pet him.  Reluctantly, Tom withdrew his hand.  "Tell me about this 'Blessing of Frey' that Hogun mentioned."

"It simply means that you have an affinity to forms of magic most often associated with the elves, and with Frey himself," Loki murmured.  "The power to build, to grow, to heal.  It is rare for the other races to possess that particular gift.  It is thought to be wasted upon the mortals who posses it, for they are prone to die long before they master their inborn magical talent."

"And I have it," Tom said.  He drew in a quick breath and then let it out in a rush, blinking rapidly.  "Right.  Did you know?"

"As I said, I merely suspected," Loki replied.  He let his gaze drop from Tom's, staring at the pillow case instead.  "It was only confirmed by your actions tonight."

"So it's a coincidence, then?" Tom asked, suppressing the urge to laugh hysterically at this latest revelation about himself.  "That I have the blessing of one god and the face of another?"

"It's an abomination," Loki muttered.

"Oh, thanks."

"No,"  Loki grasped Tom's shoulder in a hard grip, staring into his eyes earnestly.  "I did not mean that.  I mean that I snared a soul that was not mine to take.  I made it over into my own likeness for my purpose, without regard for what other greatness it was meant to achieve."

Tom blinked at him.  "Why would that bother you?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle even though he still felt a bit like laughing.  The god was looking distressed, so Tom decided to treat the conversation with more seriousness than he felt it warranted.  "You have a long history of taking what you want.  You stole a staff from Frey, so why not a soul too?  Why go through a crisis of conscience now?  That's not like you."

"I care not for Frey.  It is you that I have manipulated."

"We're not having that fight again.  I forgave you months ago," Tom said.  He reached out again, and this time Loki allowed him to stroke his hair without flinching.  "I'm happy, Loki.  I don't want another life.  I don't think I was _meant_ to achieve anything great; I don't even think I believe in fate.  What I've managed to achieve, I've worked damned hard at.  Fate had nothing to do with it."  He smiled briefly.  "A bit of dumb luck, perhaps."

Loki leaned into Tom's touch.  His tense demeanor relaxed by degrees.  He released his grip on Tom's shoulder, but he kept his hand resting there as if he had forgotten to withdraw it.  "It certainly would have been a pity to deprive you of all this, after all," he murmured dryly.

"It's been quite an adventure," Tom agreed, letting a dark lock curl around his finger.

"It is drawing a close, I believe," Loki said.  He sounded wistful.

"I don't think I'd mind too much if it lasted forever," Tom mused, toying with the curl.  It was so unlike the wig he had worn for his portrayal of Loki.  Loki's hair was not stiff with product, but sleek and soft.  "I think I like adventures," he added after a moment, smiling fondly at the god.  _His_ god.

Loki's eyes sharpened.  "Beware what you say to me.  I may hold you to it."

"Well, next time you get stabbed, you're welcome to collapse in my kitchen again," Tom suggested.

"Fool," Loki muttered, but his eyes were bright with affection.  He lifted his hand from Tom's shoulder and allowed his fingertips to trail along it, then to slip around  behind Tom's neck.

Tom gave an involuntary shiver as Loki's fingers tightened around the nape of his neck to urge him near.  He obeyed the pull, moving closer and closer to the god.  Their noses touched first in a soft, tentative nuzzle.  Their breaths mingled, and their eyes held each other fast, asking wordless questions and returning favorable answers.  Tom smiled and let out a breath of pleased laugher.  Then he tilted his head and pressed his lips to Loki's. 

It was a slow, gentle, exploratory kiss.  At first it was just lips moving against one another, enjoying the soft, sweet touches.  Then tongues, darting out to lick and tease and finally to tangle together.  Tom's eyes drifted shut, and he found himself squirming closer still to Loki.  His arms went around the slender god, holding him as gently as possible while relishing the press of skin upon skin.

It was some time before they finally resurfaced.  By the time Tom opened his eyes again, he was breathless and flushed and tingling with want.  He knew he was grinning like a loon, but he couldn't seem to stop.  He gave another soft laugh.  Not knowing what to do with his hands or with the bubbling warmth within him, he contented himself with stroking Loki's hair again.  The god's eyes were open now, and he was watching Tom's expression thoughtfully. 

"Definitely a fool," Loki commented.

"Oh, shut up," Tom chuckled, ruffling Loki's hair lightly.  "Go to sleep.  You aren't well enough to do anything more than tease me, and there are limits to my self control."

Loki huffed softly in protest, but then he smiled.  "If you insist."

"I do." 

Tom reached over to the bedside table to switch off the lamp.  He settled down beside the god, and soon felt the change in Loki's breathing as he drifted off to sleep.  But sleep didn't come immediately to Tom, in spite of his previous sense of exhaustion.  His body was still buzzing with excitement from the kiss, while his mind was caught up in speculations about a different version of Thomas William Hiddleston, born with the gift to build, to grow, and to heal, who might have lived an entirely different kind of life.  He mused on godly blessings wasted on short-lived mortals and considered whether fate, that fickle force, the existence of which he refused to admit, had a sick sense of humor. 

The last thought which lingered in his mind before he finally fell asleep were the echoing words of another god, heard months earlier. 

 _"He is_ mortal. _He has no place in a life such as yours."_

* * *

 

Three days later, Loki and Tom were seated on the floor of Tom's living room with a chess board between them.  Loki's back was to Tom's sofa, and he was propped up with  pillows and wrapped in a blanket.  Tom sat opposite him, hunched over the board.  He huffed out a sigh, for matters were not looking promising, and moved his knight.  The moment his finger left the piece, he did a double take at the board and said, "Oh, shit."

Loki was already in motion, moving his bishop into place so as to trap Tom's harassed king once and for all.  "Checkmate," he said calmly, but his green eyes were dancing with enjoyment in his triumph.

"This is impossible," Tom groaned, rubbing his forehead.  "How did I miss that?  And how long ago did I teach you this game?"

"Approximately three hours ago," Loki said, glancing at the clock on the wall.  "A little less."

"I've been playing chess for over twenty years," Tom grumbled.  "I should be able to beat a beginner at least _once_.  You're cheating."

"I am not!" Loki said, sounding torn between amusement and indignation.

"You're using magic to distract me."

"I do not need to use magic to distract you, you ridiculous creature.  And although this particular game is new to me, it is hardly the first strategy game of its type that I have played."

"And you've had centuries to master them, of course.  I suppose I should have expected that," Tom said as he set the pieces back in their original places.  Loki did not bother to help, but merely observed the process at the end of each game with princely patience.  "Another game?  What will this be, number four, or are we already on five?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but then he froze and cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something.  "Do you hear that?"

Tom went still and listened.  He heard nothing in particular at first, but he gradually became aware of a subtle rumble in the distance, somewhere beyond the usual noises of London.  The sound was not continuous, but as he listened, it grew steadily louder.  "Odd time of year to hear thunder," he murmured.  "Is it Thor?"

"Yes."

Tom merely nodded.  He swept the chess pieces off the board and began to put them back into their case.  Across from him, Loki's attention was focused entirely upon the French doors on the other side of the room. When Tom glanced in that direction briefly, he saw that the sky was growing dark with heavy clouds.  When the chess board was safely tucked away, Tom went to the French doors and flung them open.  He stepped out onto the balcony and turned his face to the sky.  Flashes of light lit the clouds, and the gusting wind blew stray raindrops into Tom's face.  He waited there until the rain began to fall in earnest, and then he retreated back into the flat, leaving the French doors open to the elements.

Tom settled himself beside Loki and slid an arm around the  god's too-thin shoulders.  Loki held himself stiffly, but he made no attempt to discourage Tom's touch.  They remained like that as the storm progressed, their eyes turned toward the balcony.  Then Tom's eyes were dazzled by a particularly bright flash of lightening.  When the momentary blindness faded, he saw the figure of a formidable man standing on his balcony.  The man was nothing more than a huge shadow, backlit by lightning.  The figure paused in front of the open French doors, gazing into the flat.  His eyes swept the living room and finally came to rest on Loki. 

"Well, you need not stand in the rain like a fool, brother," Loki sighed.  "Come in and shut the doors."

As Thor stepped into the flat and obediently closed the French doors, Tom took the opportunity to study him.  He was definitely taller than Chris Hemsworth and more muscled.  But as Thor walked further into the room, Tom was struck by a certain superficial likeness between Chris and the god.  They had the same boyish good looks; a sort of roguish youthfulness which could not be made to look older, even with the addition of a thick blond beard.  Thor was dressed in a combination of plate and scale mail, but the cape which Tom had been expecting to see was absent.  Mjölnir hung by its leather loop from Thor's belt, and it looked much the same as the prop weapon that Tom had enjoyed sneaking away from Chris at every opportunity.

Thor absently brushed a few rain-soaked strands of hair from his eyes, and then he bestowed a warm smile upon Tom and Loki.  In that moment, Tom had no trouble understanding why Thor was the golden son, beloved of all of Asgard.  In that smile was confidence, kingly arrogance, boyish charm, and deep affection.  Men and women alike would worship that smile.  They would lay down their lives for it.  And Loki, beautiful and powerful as he was, would always be a shadow beside this radiant figure.

As if he understood the train of Tom's thoughts, Loki let out a soft sigh of irritation.  "Introductions seem a bit superfluous at this point, but nevertheless, Thor, this is Thomas.  Thomas, this oaf currently dripping rainwater all over your floor is my brother Thor, the acting king of Asgard."

"No longer acting king," Thor corrected before Tom had time to protest that his floor could handle a little water. 

Loki's eyes widened, and he started to rise.  Tom stood hastily and tried to assist Loki to his feet, but Loki shoved Tom's hand away.  "What do you mean?"  Loki demanded of Thor. "Has Odin finally awakened?  If so, the timing is wonderfully convenient."

"Father has a habit of emerging from the Odinsleep when he is most needed,"  Thor agreed.  His voice was as loud and deep as Tom remembered, and Tom briefly offered up a mental apology to his neighbors for the intermittent rumbling they were undoubtedly hearing.  Hopefully they would just attribute the sounds to the storm still raging outside.

"So what now?"  Loki demanded.  "Will you drag me back to Asgard to stand for my crimes before Odin?  Think what a turnout there would be for such a trial."

Thor walked closer.  He surveyed his brother critically, undoubtedly taking in his thinness, the pallor of his skin, his sunken eyes, and the blankets that enfolded him.  His forehead creased in a frown of concern.  "There will be no trial – not for you," he said in what, for him, must have passed as a gentle tone.  "Heimdall's gaze was upon you when you killed those guards.  He says you struck first, but in self-defense, anticipating an oncoming attack."

Loki swayed slightly, and this time he did not resist when Tom reached out to steady him.  He swallowed once, looking utterly bewildered.  "Heimdall speaks in my defense?  It is not possible," he breathed.  "Of all my enemies in Asgard, he hates me most.  He has _always_ detested me."

"You are no favorite with him," Thor agreed reluctantly. "But truth is of more importance to him than any mere grudge.  Do you really believe he would allow traitors who conspired against a prince of Asgard to escape justice?"

Loki huffed out a bitter little laugh.  "Certainly, if _I_ am the prince in question," he murmured, lowering his eyes to glare daggers into the floor at Thor's feet.

"Then you do not know him," Thor said.   "But enough about Heimdall.  It is one of many subjects we never have and probably never will agree upon."

Thor turned and fixed his gaze upon Tom.  He reached out and clapped a hand over Tom's shoulder in a friendly gesture which nearly staggered the human.  Tom only just managed to take the blow without allowing his knees to buckle under him.   "Thomas," Thor said seriously, "I received the message you entrusted to Sif and Hogun, and I took it to heart.  Indeed, your fears for my brother's safety in Asgard were echoed in my own thoughts.  It was not until my father had awakened that I felt free to come here.  With the weight of royal cares lifted from my shoulders, I can devote myself entirely to Loki's protection until he is fully recovered."

"I think I would rather stand trial than to have you for a constant nursemaid," Loki grumbled.

"Shut up, Loki," Tom muttered.  Then he met Thor's eyes and smiled gratefully up at him.  "Thank you.  I've been worried because I'm leaving the country in just a few weeks, and it's not like I can take him with me.  He'll be much better off in Asgard, at least if you're there with him."

Thor nodded, and the grave expression gave way to another smile.  "He will be safe, and the remaining conspirators will be found and punished for daring to plot against a son of Odin."  He gave Tom's shoulder another jarring pat, then turned to Loki.  "Are you ready, brother?"

"How will you get there?" Tom asked curiously.

"I will fly him to the Bifrost site.  Are you well enough for the trip, Loki?" Thor asked, turning to Loki. 

Loki's eyes were on Tom.  There was a strange, wan little smile on his lips.  "Yes, of course," he murmured absently to Thor's question.  "I'll be fine."

Tom didn't know how to interpret that expression.  For a moment he hesitated, wanting to call off their departure and keep Loki at his side for as long as possible.  There was a sadness in Loki's eyes, a sort of grim acceptance that struck Tom with a deep uneasiness.  "You'll come back," Tom blurted, grasping Loki's arm impulsively.  "This is just for a little while, right?"

"Thomas," Thor said seriously.  "It would be best for you if he did not return.  He does not lead a… safe life."

"Safe?" Tom sputtered, his uneasiness increasing. "Whose life is safe?  Who _wants_ to be safe?"  He reached out to cup Loki's face with his hands, fixing him with a hard look.  "You're coming back.  And you're not going to make me wait for months, this time.  Promise me, Loki.  Please don't leave without promising that much, at least."

Loki's smile grew more genuine.  "I will not lie to you," he said softly as he lifted a hand to Tom's cheek.  "To all the rest of the universe, but not to you. Therefore, I make you no promises."

"But I thought–"  Tom began, his voice cracking slightly.

"I have much to think on," Loki murmured, absently stroking his thumb along Tom's cheek.  "Much to plan for.  The future is uncertain.  But do not fret, my mortal."

Tom frowned, but noting a familiar glint of mischief dawning in Loki's eyes, he made no further protest.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around the slim god and buried his face against the crook of his neck.  He planted soft kisses against the sweet-smelling skin he found there, heedless of Thor's disconcerted gaze upon them.  Loki allowed the attentions, merely stroking his fingers through Tom's short curls until the human finally, reluctantly withdrew. 

"Be safe on your journey, Thomas," Loki said.  "Wear my gem always."

Tom patted his chest, where the green gem hung suspended under his shirt.  "I will.  I always do.  And you, stay safe.  Get well.  I–"  He paused, swallowing and giving a soft, helpless little laugh.  He shrugged his shoulders and made an abortive gesture with his hands.  "Well, you know."

Loki nodded.  He looked down at himself, still garbed in Tom's sweats and swaddled in blankets.  "May I–"

"Keep it all," Tom chuckled.

Loki nodded again and turned to his brother.  "I am ready, Thor."

Thor's expression had evolved from one of shock at the signs of intimacy between Loki and Tom to one of meditation.  He roused himself at Loki's words, making a deep humming noise before nodding.  "We will depart, then," he said.  "Farewell, Thomas."

"Goodbye, Thor."

Tom watched the brothers make their way to the balcony, leaving the French doors wide open in their wake.  Thor wrapped an arm around Loki's middle, drawing him close, and then he unhooked Mjölnir from his belt.  As the wind blew raindrops into Tom's face, he saw Thor begin to swing the hammer, lazily at first, but swiftly increasing his speed until the hammer was just a blur of motion.  Then he watched as Thor and Loki rose into storm and disappeared from his sight.

He remained standing before the open doors for some time after they left.  He watched the storm begin to settle and listened to the rumblings of thunder slowly fade away.  The dark clouds scattered as quickly as they had collected, leaving behind a sky painted in sunset hues.  Finally he let out the breath he seemed to have been holding for hours, and went to shut the doors. 

The soft click of the latch seemed to echo like a gong throughout the flat.  Wincing, Tom pressed his forehead to one of the cool glass panes and let his eyes drift shut.  His fingers sought out the little green gem under his shirt.  He could feel its energy under the surface of the crystal, cold and familiar.  He gripped it tight, and felt comforted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I've taken some liberties with the the lore regarding Alfheim, elven magic, and Frey.
> 
> Just one more chapter to go! Thanks to everyone who has been following the progress of this fic. Your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

Tom had no clear idea of what time it was when he stumbled into his flat in the early hours of the morning.  He only knew that it was way past his bed time.  "To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is early, so that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes," he recited to himself, grinning as he shut the door and began to loosen his tie.  Any excuse for late night carousing that had been good enough for Shakespeare was good enough for him. 

He had just enjoyed a wonderful evening, in spite of the dismal and piercingly cold weather which had threatened to put a damper on the whole event.   He was fully conscious of the honor of being selected to present one of the Bafta awards.  It had been an exciting experience, albeit rather nerve-wracking.  The after party though… that had been quite something.  The wine had flowed quite liberally, as was to be expected at such an event, and he had certainly partaken of far more of it than he was used to.  But the hour of regret for his overindulgence was not upon him yet.  He was still buzzing with energy and conscious of a deep sense of peace with the world and with his place in it. 

He was in the mood to do something dramatic, possibly even reckless, but his head was a bit too fuzzy to settle upon any particular course of action.  Actually, to be entirely frank, what he was _really_ in the mood for at that moment was sex.  But in spite of a few tempting opportunities that had presented themselves to him at the after party, he had returned home alone.

He walked into his living room, navigating the darkened flat by memory and not bothering to turn on any lights.  He wanted to stand before his French doors and watch the wintery mix of rain and ice fall like tiny gemstones, illuminated by the city lights.  He wanted to watch the pale, gray light of dawn begin to seep through the overhanging clouds, turning this winter's night into a hazy London morning. 

But he was prevented from carrying out this plan by the appearance of a tall shadow occupying the spot before the French doors.  He could only see the figure's outline – a tall silhouette against the bleary light of nearby street lamps – but he knew immediately who his visitor was.  Tom's breath caught.  He stared at the figure, simultaneously overjoyed and afraid that this would prove to be some alcohol-induced hallucination, a lovely dream that would disappear with the onset of his morning hangover.  Then Loki turned slowly, facing him across the room.  The god's face was in shadow, but Tom could hear the smile in his voice as he said softly, "Thomas."

Tom let out his breath in a rush, feeling dizzy with relief and joy.  He practically ran forward, his long strides eating up the distance between them until he was close enough to throw his arms around Loki's neck.   

Loki gave a soft chuckle as he closed his arms tightly around Tom.  "You are very late," Loki observed,  "and you smell of wine.  Thomas, I believe you are inebriated."

"Not completely pissed, I promise," Tom assured him, his voice muffled against Loki's neck where he was dropping soft kisses against warm, smooth skin.  Loki smelled of herbs and sweet rain, just as he remembered. "Just a little the worse for wear.  But I'm not the one who's late.  I've been home from West Africa for a week and a half.  I've been waiting for you."

"I had several matters to attend to before I could return," Loki said. 

"At least you have returned.  That's all that matters.  I was worried… It sounded like you weren't sure you were coming back all."

"I might not have done so, if my preparations had not been successful.  I am not certain I could have borne… but it does not matter now.  At least, I hope not," Loki replied softly.  His fingers were trailing through Tom's hair, mussing the careful styling that had somehow survived both the ceremony and the after party.  His fingers closed around a bunch of curls, and he gently tugged at them, pulling Tom's head back.  

Tom obeyed the pull reluctantly, planting one last kiss just under Loki's jaw line before looking up.  He still could not see Loki's face very clearly, but his eyes were beginning to adjust to the dimness.  He could tell that Loki's eyes were narrowed slightly.  Loki grasped Tom's chin with the hand not currently clutching a fist full of Tom's curls and peered into his face.  Clearly, the darkness was no impediment to Loki's eyesight.

"You have new lines upon your brow and at the corners of your eyes," Loki murmured softly, releasing Tom's hair so as to trace the lines with his fingertip.

"Still not completely caught up on sleep from my trip," Tom explained, repressing a shiver at Loki's touch.  "I'm fine.  I'm not the one who could barely stand a month ago.  Are you–"

"I am completely recovered," Loki assured him. 

"Did Thor drive you crazy?"

"Naturally, and I returned the favor."

Tom chuckled, then sucked in a quick breath when Loki began to trace the outline of his lips with the tip of a fingernail.  A little shudder of pleasure shook his shoulders.  How could so simple a touch be so erotic?  "Loki, please," he murmured, unconsciously echoing the first words he had ever spoken to the god.

Loki hummed softly in acquiescence, then leaned forward to brush his lips lightly against Tom's.  Tom groaned.  It felt like a carefully maintained wall was crumbling within him, releasing all the dangerous desire, fear, and longing that he had been repressing for the past month.  He quickly took control of the kiss.  He snaked a hand behind Loki's neck and tugged until their lips were mashed together.  Then their mouths were open and their tongues were intertwined.  There were no sweet caresses, no tender touches.  It was more like dueling with their mouths rather than kissing.  As they clung together, Loki's leather armor pinched and chafed at Tom through his much thinner clothing, but he barely noticed the discomfort. 

It was Loki who finally broke the kiss.  He had to seize Tom's shoulders and forcibly push him away to accomplish it.  Tom let out a soft, unmanly whine, which Loki responded to with a low chuckle.  "I like you like this," Loki informed him, still holding him at bay while Tom squirmed in his vice-like grip.  "I will have to make sure you are intoxicated more frequently."

"I don't have to be drunk to want you," Tom panted, pawing the supple leather encasing Loki's arms since he couldn't easily reach anything else from this angle.

"No, but it does bring out a certain degree of repressed ferocity in your nature that I find I enjoy."

"I did warn you that there are limits to my self-control," Tom reminded him.

"So you did," Loki said.  He tilted his head to one side.  Tom still couldn't make out his expression, but it seemed that Loki's amusement had given way to a more contemplative mood.  Then Loki abruptly released Tom's shoulders and drew his hands behind his back.  "I missed your birthday, it seems," he said.

Tom's befogged brain took a moment to follow this change of topic.  "My birthday?  Oh, yes.  It was yesterday.  Or rather, two days ago now, since it's already morning.  I'm surprised you remembered.  I don't suppose you celebrate birthdays in Asgard?"

"To do so would be pointless," Loki said dryly.  "We have rather a lot of them."

"Right," said Tom, licking his lips uncertainly.  He wondered where this conversation was going, and whether they could get back to snogging soon.  He had been greatly enjoying that. 

Then, quite unexpectedly, Loki said, "I have brought you a gift."  There was something in Loki's tone that made Tom mentally sit up and take notice.  Loki sounded almost hesitant, as if he was about to say something of supreme importance.  As if he expected to find his offering rejected. 

"A gift?" Tom repeated stupidly, wishing that he were a bit more sober so that he could understand the sudden change in the atmosphere between them.  He felt like he was missing something vital.  "What sort of gift?"

Loki did not reply.  Instead, he withdrew his hands from behind his back and stretched out his right hand towards Tom.  Resting on his palm was an apple.  A small, perfect apple that shone with an inner light of its own.  An apple that appeared to be made of solid gold.

Tom stared for several long minutes without speaking.  He couldn't find his voice.  His thoughts were completely scattered, and his throat was constricted.  Was this fear he was feeling, or was it joy?  Did he really believe what he was seeing?  Was there some mistake?  Finally, he managed to stammer out, "Is that… Is that what I think it is?"

"It is one of Idunn's apples," Loki confirmed quietly.  The light from the apple cast a soft glow upon the god's face, allowing Tom to see his expression at last.  There was hope there, but also wariness, and even traces of guilt.  Tom wondered about the latter emotion, and he wondered specifically what Loki had done to obtain this apple.

"It's for me?"  Tom asked, needing confirmation on this point. 

"Yes."

"Oh my god."  Tom lifted shaky hands to his head, distractedly tugging at his own hair.  "Loki, my brain is not working very well right now.  Could you spell it out?  Tell me what this means."

Loki stared down at the apple in his palm as if he himself was fascinated by it, though he must have seen and partaken of such apples himself many, many times over his long lifetime.  Loki was frowning as he lifted his eyes to Tom's face.  "I have come to ask you if you will accept this… no, not a gift.  I called it a gift, but it is no such thing."  He paused, then said gruffly, "Don't look at me like that, Thomas."

"Like what?"

"Like you think I hold the world within my hands," Loki said ruefully.  "It is only dust, you know.  I have come to ask you if you will share with me the curse of time, thereby lessening its terrible power.  If you eat this, I will cast a glamour over you so that you will appear to age as a normal human while you are here on earth.  But at the end of a mortal lifespan, I will take you to Asgard to live with me.  Do you see how selfish I am in my gift-giving?"

Tom suddenly felt much, much more sober.  He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, contemplating just what Loki was offering him.  He had never looked for it.  He had never even imagined the possibility that he would be offered such an opportunity.  He didn't know what he had been hoping for; occasional visits from his beloved god, at least until he grew old enough for Loki to tire of him, perhaps.  Not this.  No, certainly not this.

He looked up to find Loki watching him with an almost pained expression on his face.  He recalled Loki's previous comments about time's curse.  _Having a greater abundance of time simply means that we have more to lose_.  Tom suddenly realized, with a little jolt of surprise and pleasure,  that what Loki most feared to lose was _him_.

"Did you steal the apple?" Tom asked curiously, not that it was likely to make much difference in his decision.

Loki's face relaxed slightly.  He looked vaguely amused, and also a bit reproachful.  "I could have, but it would not have served my purpose to do so.  I wanted to make a place for you in Asgard so that you would find acceptance there."

"How on earth did you manage that?"

"In the end, it required surprisingly little effort," Loki drawled, relaxing further.  He seemed to be growing more confident that his gift would not be scorned.  "Remember how I told you that the prevailing sentiment in Asgard is that Frey's blessing is wasted upon mortals?"

"I remember," Tom said, light beginning to dawn in his mind.  "I see how it is," he teased gently.  "You only want me for my elf magic."

Loki lifted a hand to Tom's face and gently stroked his thumb across his cheek.  "Odin only wants you for your elf magic," Loki corrected,  "and because he thinks you'll assure my continued loyalty to Asgard, of course.  It matters little what his motives are, however.  It is with his full knowledge and approval that I offer this to you.  Are you satisfied?"

Tom hummed softly and leaned into Loki's touch.  He nuzzled Loki's hand gently, then glanced down at the apple in Loki's other hand.  "The curse of time?" he murmured.  "Rather tempting, as curses go.  Some would, of course, consider being tied to you for centuries to be a rather alarming prospect, though."  He nipped at Loki's fingers, and received a playful smack on the cheek for his impertinence.

"You are not taking this seriously, Thomas," Loki chided.

"I am, I promise," Tom laughed.  "I just don't think it's sunk in yet.  And I told you, my brain isn't working quite right."

"Then I must not allow you make your decision now, while you are not yet sober," Loki decided.  He made a complicated gesture in the air with both hands, and the apple disappeared in a little puff of spice-scented smoke.  The light winked out, shrouding them in darkness once more.

Tom grunted in protest, but it didn't really matter.  His decision would not change, regardless of his relative state of sobriety.  Loki was promising him forever, and honestly, what love-struck fool had ever turned down such an offer as that?  But it could wait.  There were other things that they could do in the early hours of the morning.  Loki was healthy, and Tom was giddy with happiness.  A celebration of sorts was in order.  Preferably the sort of celebration that took place in bed.

"I'm not drunk enough that you'll refuse to take advantage of me, am I?" he asked hopefully.

Loki gave a dark chuckle and reached for Tom's tie.  He pulled, reeling Tom closer until they were nose to nose.  "Naturally not.  I am not so honorable as that," he growled.

"Oh, thank god," Tom said breathlessly, due in part to anticipation and in part to the fact that his tie had tightened rather uncomfortably around his neck.  "Bed, then?"

"Yes," Loki said simply.  He wrapped his arms around Tom, drawing him into another tight embrace.  He nuzzled Tom's ear and sighed contently.  The little gust of warm breath made Tom shiver with delightful anticipation.  Then Loki teleported them both to Tom's bed, leaving their clothes behind.

 

* * *

 

It was an hour later when Tom finally said it.  Wrapped in warm sheets with his head pillowed on a pale, naked chest, he drifted between sleep and wakefulness as the dangerous words repeated over and over in his head like a chant.  He tasted the words on his tongue, silently rolling them about within his mouth before finally giving them voice.

"I love you."

There was a long pause.  The fingers which had been lazily sliding through Tom's curls stilled for a moment, then resumed.  Loki's voice, deep and contented, replied, "Yes."

Tom waited, but that was apparently all the god had to say.  He glanced up, resting his chin on Loki's chest as he looked into his face.  "That's all?  Just 'yes?'  You're not going to say it back?"

"The words are not important."

"Words are always important," Tom countered.

"How like an actor to say so," Loki said.  "Words are an integral part of your trade, are they not?" 

"And of yours," Tom reminded him.

"True," Loki sighed.  He ruffled Tom's hair lightly, then he began to run his fingertips through it once more.  He appeared to have a fixation with Tom's hair, which was perfectly fine with Tom.  "I love you," he finally murmured.  "Are you satisfied?"

"Entirely," Tom said with a soft smile.  He rested his cheek on Loki's chest once more and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Final chapter. When I started this story, I had no idea it would take anywhere near this long for me to finish it. Thank you to everyone who has put up with my inconsistent posting schedule. Thank you also for all your kudos and comments. You have been wonderfully encouraging. This is the first multi-chapter writing project that I have ever managed to finish, and I have you all to thank for it. 
> 
> If you have enjoyed this story, please come visit me on [Tumblr](http://seekingidlewild.tumblr.com/) for updates about my other projects.


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